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1 



THE FALL OF PALMYRA 


(FIRST HALF. ) 


17 TO 27 VANDEW>TEf\ 3T 

’j^EWTo^K:* 




Seaside 


, , „JiUon, issued Tri weekly. By stibscription $50 per auiiniu. 

id 1KH6 by George Muuro—Entered at the Post Office at’New York at second clas8rat33—M’ch 2. 188 fi. 



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4 ‘ ^ ^ ■ 

' Z E N O B I A; ; 

OR, 

THE FALL OF PALMYRA 


IN LETTERS OP L. MANLIUS PISO, PROM PALMYRA, TO 
HIS PRIEND MARCUS CURTIUS AT ROME. 


BY 


U 


WILLIAM WARE. 


/. J 




FIRST HALF. 



y 


NEW YORK; 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

17 TO 27 Vandewater Street. 




9 




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ZENOBIA. 


LETTER 1. 

It is with difficulty that I persuade myself, that it is I 
who am sitting and writing to you from this great city of 
the East. Whether I look upon the face of nature, or the 
works of man, I see everything different from what the 
West presents; so widely different, that it seems to me, at 
times, as if I were subject to the power of a dream. But I 
rouse myself, and find that I am awake, and that it is 
really I, your old friend and neighbor, Piso, late a dweller 
upon the Coelian hill, who am now basking in the warm 
skies of Palmyra, and, notwithstanding all the splendor 
and luxury by which I am surrounded, longing to be once 
more in Rome, by the side of my Curtius, and with him 
discoursing, as we have been wont to do, of the acts and 
policy of the magnificent Aurelian. 

But to the purpose of this letter, which is, in agreement 
with my promise, to tell you of my fortunes since I parted 
from you, and of my good or ill success, as it may be, in 
the prosecution of that affair which has driven me so far 
from my beloved Rome. Oh, Humanity! why art thou so 
afflicted.^ ^hy have the immortal gods made the cup of 
life so bitt^ And why am I singled out to partake of 
one that seems all bitter? My feelings sometimes over- 
master my philosophy. You can forgive this, who know 
my sorrows. Still I am delaying to inform vou concerning 
my journey and my arrival. Now I will begin. 

As soon as I had lost sight of you weeping on the quay, 
holding in your hand the little Gallus, and of the dear Lu- 
cilia, leaning on your arm, and could no longer, even by 
mounting upon the highest part of the vessel, discern the 
waving of your hands, nor cause you to see the fervor with 
which I returned the sign of friendship, I at once left off 
thinking of you, as far as I could, and to divert my thoughts. 


6 


ZEN^OBIA. 


began to examine, as if I had never seen them before, the 
banks of the yellow Tiber. At first the crowds of ship- 
ping, of every form and from every part of the world, dis- 
tracted the sight, and compelled me to observe what was 
immediately around me. The cries of the sailors, as they 
were engaged in managing different parts of their vessels, 
or as they called out in violent and abusive terms to those 
. who passed them, or as their several galleys struck against 
each other in their attempts to go up or down the river, 
together with the frequent roarings and bellowings of whole 
cargoes of wild beasts from the deserts of Asia and Africa 
destined to the amphitheater, intermingled with the jargon 
of an hundred different barbarian languages from the 
thousands who thronged the decks of this fleet of all na- 
tions — these sights and sounds at first wholly absorbed me, 
and for a moment shut all the world besides — even you — 
out of my mind. It was a strange yet inspiring scene, and 
gave me greater thoughts than ever of the power and maj- 
esty of Rome. Here were men and ships that had traversed 
oceans and continents to bring the offerings of their toil, 
and lay them at the feet of the mistress of the world. And 
over all this bustle, created by the busy spirit of commerce, 
a splendor and gayety were thrown by numerous triremes 
and boats of pleasure, which, glittering under the light of 
a summer^ s morning sun, were just setting out upon some 
excursion of pleasure, with streamers floating from the 
slender masts, music swelling up from innumerable per- 
formers, and shouts of merry laughter from crowds of the 
rich and noble youths of the city, who reclined upon the 
decks, beneath canopies of the richest dyes. As these Cleo- 
patra barges floated along with their soft burden, torrents 
of vituperative epithet were poured upon them by the 
rough children of Neptime, which was received with an 
. easy indifference, or returned with no lack of ability in 
that sort of warfare, according to the temper or breeding 
of the parties. 

When the novelty of this scene was worn out, for though 
often seen it is ever new, and we had fallen a few miles be- 
low the city, to where the eye first meets the smiling face 
of the country, I looked eagerly around, first upon one, 
and then upon the other bank of the river, in search of the 
villas of our fortunate citizens waiting impatiently till the 
well-known turn of the stream should bring me before 


ZENOBIA. 


7 


yours, where, with our mutual friends, we have passed so 
many happy days. It was not long before I was gratified. 
Our vessel gracefully doubled the projecting point, black- 
ened with that thick grove of pine, and your hospitable 
dwelling gpeted my eyes; now, alas! again, by that loved 
and familiar object, made to overflow with tears. I was 
obliged, by one manly effort, to leap clear of the power of 
all-subduing love, for my sensibilities were drawing upon 
me the observation of my fellow-passengers. I therefore 
withdrew from the side of the vessel where I had been 
standing, and moving to that part of it which would best 
protect me from what, but now, I had so eagerly sought,, 
sat down and occupied myself in watching the movements 
and the figures of the persons whom chance had thrown 
into my company, and with whom I was now, for so many 
days, to be shut up in the narrow compass of our mer- 
chant-bark. I had sat but a little while, when the master 
of the ship, passing by me, stopped, and asked if it was I 
who was to land at Utica — for that one, or more than one, 
he believed, had spoken for a passage only to that port. 

‘‘No, truly, I replied; and added: “ Do you, then, 
cross over to Utica? — that seems to me far from a direct 
course for those bound to Syria. 

Better round-about,^^ rejoined he, in his rough way, 

“ than risk Scylla and Charybdis; and so would you judge, 
were the bowels of my good ship stored with 3’our wealth, 
as they are, it may be, with that of some of your friends. 
The Roman merchant likes not that narrow strait, fatal to 
so many, but prefers the open sea, though the voyage be 
longer. But with this wind— once out of this foul Tiber 
— and we shall soon see the white shores of Africa. Truly, 
what a medley we seem to have on board! Jews, Romans, 
Syrians, Greeks, soldiers, adventurers, merchants, peddlers, 
and, if I miss not, Christians too; and you, if I miss not 
again, the only patrician. I marvel at your taking ship 
with so spotted a company, when there are these gay pas- 
senger-boats, sacred to the trim persons of the capital, ad- 
mitting even not so much as a case of jewels besides. 

“ Doubtless it would have been better on some accounts,"^ 

I replied, “ but my business was urgent, and I could not 
wait for the sailing of the packet-boats; and besides, I am 
not unwilling to adventure where I shall mix with a greater 
variety of my own species, and gain a better knowledge of 


8 


ZENOBIA. 


myself by the study of others. In this object I am not 
likely to be disappointed, for you furnish me with diverse 
samples, which I can contemplate at my leisure. 

“ If one studied so as to know well the properties of 
fishes or animals, rejoined he, in a sneering tone, ‘‘it 
would be profitable, for fishes can be eaten, and animals 
can be used: but man! I know little that he is good for, 
but to bury, and so fatten the soil. Emperors, as being 
highest, should be best, and yet, what are they? Whether 
they have been fools or madmen, the Tiber has still run 
blood, and the air been poisoned by the rotting carcasses of 
their victims. Claudius was a good man, I grant; but the 
gods, I believe, envied us our felicity, and so took him.^^ 

“ I trust, said I, “ that the present auspices will not 
deceive us, and that the happiness began under that al- 
most divine ruler, will be completed under him whom he 
designated as most worthy of the scepter of the world, and 
whose reign— certainly we may say it — has commenced so 
prosperously. I think better of man than you do, and I 
can not but believe that there will yet rise up among us 
those who shall feel what power, almost of a god, is lodged 
in the will of a Eoman emperor, and will use it like a god 
to bless, not curse mankind. AYhymay not Nature repeat 
the virtuous Antonines! Her power is not spent. For my- 
self, I have faith that Aurelian will restore not so much 
the greatness, as the peace and happiness of the empire. 

“ So have not I,^^ cried the master of the ship; “ is he 
not sprung from the loins of a peasant? Has not the camp 
been his home? Was not a shield his cradle? Such power 
as his will craze him. Born to it, and the chance were 
better. Mark a sailor’s word: he will sooner play the 
part of Maximin, than that of Antonine or Severus, or of 
our late good Claudius. When he feels easy in the skddle, 
we shall see what he will do. So far, the blood of barbar- 
ians, slain in battle, has satisfied him; when once in Rome, 
that of citizens will be sweeter. But may the gods befriend 
us!” 

At this point of our discourse, we were interrupted by 
loud vociferations from the forward part of the vessel, 
where I had long observed a crowd of the passengers, who 
seemed engaged in some earnest conversation. The tones 
now became sharp and angry, and the group suddenly dis- 
persed, separating this way and that, as the hoarse and 


ZENOBIA. 


9 


commanding voice of the master of the ship reached them, 
calling upon them to observe the rules of the vessel, which 
allowed, of no riot or (quarreling. Toward me there moved 
one whom I hardly know how to describe, and yet feel 
that. I must. You will here doubtless exclaim, Why 
obliged to describe? Why say so much of accidental com- 
panions?" But you will answer yourself, I feel persuaded, 
my Curtius, by supposing that I should not particularly 
notice a mere companion of the voyage, unless he had con- 
nected himself in some manner with my fortunes. Such 
has been the case with this person, and one other whom I 
will shortly introduce to you. As I was saying, then, 
when that group dispersed, one of its number moved to- 
ward me, and seated himself at my side. He was evidently 
a Roman and a citizen. His features were of no other na- 
tion. But with all the dignity that characterized him as a 
Roman, there were mixed a sweetness and a mildness, 
pch as I do not remember to have seen in another. And 
in the eye there was a melancholy and a deepness, if I may 
say so, more remarkable still. It was the eye of one who 
was all sorrow, all love, and all purity; in whom the soul 
had undisputed sway over the passions and the senses. I 
have seen an expression which has approached it, in some 
of our priests, but far below it in power and beauty. My 
first impulse was to address him, but his pallid and thought- 
ful countenance, together with that eye, restrained me, and 
I know not how I should have overcome this strange diffi- 
dence, had not the difficulty been removed by the inter- 
vention of a third party. This was no other than one of 
those traveling Jews, who infest all cities, towns and re- 
gions, and dwell among all people, yet mix with none. He 
was bent almost double by the weight of large packages of 
goods, of all descriptions, which he carried, part before 
and part behind him, and which he had not laid aside, in 
the hope, I suppose, of effecting some sales among the pas- 
sengers. 

Here-’s old Isaac the Jew,'’^ cried he, as he approached 
toward where I sat, and then stood before me resting his 
pannier of articles upon a pile of merchandise, which lay 
there — ‘‘ here^s old Isaac the Jew, last from Rome, but a 
citizen of the world, now on his way to Carthage and 
Syria, with all sorts of jewelry and ornaments: nothing 
that a lady wants that^s not here — or gentleman either. 


10 


ZEKOBIA. 


Most noble sir, let me press upon you this steel mirror, of 
the most perfect polish: see the setting too; could the fancy 
of it be better? No?_ You would prefer a ring: look then 
at this assortment — iron and gold rings — marriage, seal, 
and fancy rings— buckles too: have you seen finer? Here 
too are soaps, perfumes, and salves for the toilet— hair- 
. pins and essences. Perhaps you would prefer somewhat a 
little more useful. I shall show you then these sandals and 
, slippers; see what a charming variety — ^both in form and 
color: pretty feet alone should press these — think you not 
so? But, alas! I can not tempt you. 

‘‘How is it possible,"" said I, “for another to speak 
when thy tongue wags so fast? Those rings I would gladly 
have examined, and now that thou hast discharged that 
volley of hoarse sounds, I pray thee' open again that case. 

I thank thee for giving me an occupation. "" 

^ Take care!"" replied the voluble Jew, throwing a 
ouick and mischievous glance toward the Roman whom I 
have already mentioned— “ take care how my friend here 
of the new faith hears thee or sees thee, an" thou wouldst 
escape a rebuke. He holds my beauties here and my call- 
ing in high contempt, and as for occupation, he thinks 
one never need be idle who has himself to converse with."" 

What you have last uttered is true,"" replied the per- 
son whom he addressed; “ he need never want for employ- 
ment" who possesses the power of thought. But as to thy 
trade, I object not to that, nor to what thou sellest: only 
to being myself a buyer. "" 

“Ha! thou wilt not buy? Trust Isaac for that. I 
keep that which shall suit all, and enslave all. I would 
have made thee buy of me before, but for the uproar of 
these soldiers."" 


While uttering these words, he had placed the case of 
rings in my hands to examine them, and was engaged him- 
self in exploring the depths of a large package, from which 
he^at length triumphantly drew forth a parchment roll, 
^ow open all thine eyes, Hazarene,"" cried the Jew, 

and thou shalt see what thou shalt. Look!"" - 
And so saying, he unfolded the first portion of the roll 
iipon which the eye of the Roman had no sooner fallen" 
than his face suddenly glowed as if a god shone through 
him, and reverently seizing the book, he exclaimed- 


ZEKOBIA. 11 

“ I thank thee, Jew; thou has conquered; I am a cus- 
tomer too. Here is my purse — take what thou wilt. 

V Hold, hold!” interrupted the Jew, laughing, “ I have 
not done with thee yet; what thou hast bought in Greek, I 
would now sell thee again in Latin. Thy half convert, the 
soldier Macer, would greet this as a cordial to his famish- 
ing soul. Take both, and thou hast them cheaper. ” 

“ Your cunning hardly deserves such a reward,” said 
the Christian, as I now perceived him to be, ‘‘but you 
have said well, and I not unwillingly obey your suggestions. 
Pay yourself now for both, and give them to me carefully 
rolled up.” 

“ No better sale than this shall I make to-day, and that 
too to a Jew-hating Nazarene. But what matters it whom 
I tax for the upholding of Jerusalem? Surely it is sweeter, 
when the cruel Eoman or the heretic Christian is made 
unconsciously to build at her walls.” 

Thus muttered the Jew to himself, as he skillfully bound 
into a parcel the Christiana’s books. 

“ And now, most excellent sir,” said he, turning toward 
me, “ what do you find worthy your own or your lady^s 
finger? Here is another case — perhaps these may strike 
you as rarer for their devices, or their workmanship. But 
they are rather better suited to the tastes of the rich Palmy- 
renes, to whom I am bearing them. ” 

“Ah!” I exclaimed, “these are what I want. This 
seal ring, with the head of Zenobia, for which I sought in 
vain in Pome, I will buy, nor care for its cost, if thou caiist 
assure me of its resemblance to the great Queen. Who 
was the artist?” 

“ As I stand here, a true son of Abraham,” he replied, 
“it was worked by a Greek jeweler, who lives hard by the 
Temple of Fortune, and who has engraved it after a draw- 
ing made by a brother, an inhabitant of Palmyra. Two 
such artists in their way are not to be found. I myself, 
moreover, bore the original drawing from Demetrius to his 
brother in Kome, and that it is like the great Queen, I can 
well testify, for I have often seen her. Her marvelous 
beauty is here well expressed, or as well as that which par- 
takes so much more of heaven than of earth can be. But 
look at these, too! Here I have what I look to do well 
with. See! heads of Odenatus! Think you not they will 
take well? These also are done with the same care as the 


12 


ZENOBIA’. 


others, and by the same workmen. Nothing of the kind 
as yet been seen in Palmyra, nor indeed in Pome. 
Happy Isaac! thy fortune is made! Come, put them* on 

thy finger, and observe their beauty. King and Queen 

how lovingly they sit there together! ^Twas just so 
when Odenatus was alive. They were a noble and a lov- 
ing^pair. The Queen yet weeps for him. 

Jew/-’ said I, ‘‘on thy word I purchase these. Al- 
though thy name is in no good repute, yet thy face is hon- 
est,^ and I will trust thee so far. 

The name of the unfortunate and the weak is never in 
repute, said Isaac, as he took my money and folded up 
tlie rings, his whole manner suddenly changing. “ The 
Jew IS now but a worm, writhing under the heel of the 
proud Roman. Many a time has he, however, as thou 
well knowest, turned upon his destroyer, and tasted the 
sweetness of a brief revenge. Why should I speak of the 
massacres of Egypt, Gyrene, and Syria in the days of Tra- 
jan Let Rome beware! Small though we seem, the dav 
will yet arrive when the glory of Zion shall fill the whole 
eaith— and He shall come, before whom the mighty Em- 
peror of Rome shall tremble in his palaces. This is what 

nfTn n Aurelian, that even a poor son 

M Abraham may speak his mind and not lose his head 
Here s old Isaac: who’ll buy of old Isaac— rings— pins— 
and razors — whoTl buy?’^ ^ ^ 

And so singing, he turned away, and mixed with the 
passengers in the other parts of the vessel. The wild dare 
ot his eye, and deep, suppressed tone of his voice at he 
condition and hopes of his tribe, startled and 
moved me, and I would willingly have prolonged a con- 
singular people, about whom I 
really know nothing, and with none of whom had I ever 
before come in contact. When I see you again I sLll 
have much to tell you of him; for during the rek of the 
voyage we were often thrown together, aid, as yL will 

eutbn of my i^ec"/*^ 

No sooner had Isaac withdrawn from our company than 
H’® opportunity to address myself ^to the re- 
Sbe^ ^ de- 

“ It is a great testimony,” I said, turning toward him. 


ZENOBIA. 


13 


which these Jews bear to their national religion. I 
much doubt if Romans, under similar circumstances of op- 
pression, would exhibit a constancy like theirs. Their at- 
tachment, too, is to an invisible religion, as one may say, 
which makes it the more remarkable. They have neither 
temples, altars, victims, nor statues, nor any form of god 
or goddess, to which they pay real or feigned adoration. 
Toward us they bear deep and inextinguishable hate, for 
our religion not less than for our oppressions. I never see 
a Jew threading our streets with busy steps, and his dark, 
2 ')iercing eye, but I seem to see an assassin, who, with 
Caligula, wishes the Roman people had but one neck, 
that he might exterminate •the whole race with a single 
blow. Toward you, however, who are so nearly of his own 
faith, I suppose his sentiments are more kindly. The 
Christian Roman, perhaps, he would spare. 

“ Not so, I greatly fear,^^ replied the Christian. “ Nay, 
the Jew bears a deeper hatred toward us than toward you, 
and would sooner sacrifice us; for the reason, doubtless, 
that we are nearer him in faith than you; just as our suc- 
cessful emperors have no sooner found themselves securely 
seated, than they have first turned upon the members of 
their own family, that from this, the most dangerous quar- 
ter, there should be no fear of rival or usurper. The Jew 
holds the Christian — as though in some sort believing with 
him — as a rival — a usurper — a rebel; as one who would 
substitute a novelty for the ancient creed of his people, 
and, in a word, bring ruin upon the very existence of his 
tribe. His suspicions, truly, are not without foundation; 
but they do not excuse the temper with which he regards 
us. I cast no imputation upon the virtues of friend Isaac, 
in what 1 say. The very spirit of universal love, I believe, 
reigns in his soul. Would that all of his race were like 
him.^^ 

‘‘ What you say is new and strange, I replied. I 
may possibly bring shame upon myself, by saying so, but 
it is true., ^ I have been accustomed to regard Christians 
and Jews as in effect one people; one, I mean, in opinion 
and feeling. But in truth I know nothing. You are not 
ignorant of the prejudice which exists toward both these 
races, on the part of the Romans. I have yielded, with 
multitudes around me, to prevailing ideas, taking no stej^s 
to learn their truth or error. Our writers, from Tacitus 


14 


ZENOBIA. 


to the base tools— for such they must have been— who lent 
purposes of the big Macrianus, and who 
hlled the city with their accounts of the Christians, have 
all agreed in representing your faith as a dark and mis- 
chievous superstition. I have, indeed, been struck with 
e circumstance, that while the Jews make no converts 
from among ns, great numbers are reported to have joined 
the Ohri^ians; ai^ of those, not a few of the higher 

TchnWinn Philip, I think it is clear,®was 

a Chiistian. This might have taught me that there is a 
wide difference between the Christian and the Jew. But 
the general hatred toward both the one and the other, 
together with the persecutions.to which they have been ex- 
posed, have made me more than indifferent to their merits. ” 
“.iT time will come,’ "replied the Christian, 

when our cause will be examined on the ground of its 
“fJ believe that it has now come? 

The Eoman world is at peace. A strong and generous 
prince is upon the throne. Mild and just llws restrain the 

Men°of ipPT* sanguinary priesthood. 

Men of intelligence and virtue adorn our profession, from 
whom those who are anxious to know the truth can hear 
It; and copies of our sacred books both in Greek and Latin 
abound, whence may easily be learned the true princinles 
of our faith and. the light of whose holy pages Cldin- 
darkness by which the milds of many 
even of the virtuous and well-disposed, are oppressed. It 
IS hardly likely that a fitter opportunity will soon offer for 
an examination of the claims'^ of Chiitianity wThave 
nothing to dread but the deadness and indifference of the 
public mind. It is not credible that polytheism should stand 

CbriV’^ V fa"’ comparison of it with the religion of 
C list. You yourself are not a believer (pardon mv bold 
ness) in the ineffable stupidities of the common rehgton" 
To suppose you were— I see by the expression of your conn’ 
tenance--would be an unpardonable offense. I sincerelv 
believe, that notlnng more is wanting to change you and 
every intelligent Roman, from professed supporters of the 
common religion (but real infidels), into wwm behevers 
and advocates of the doctrine of Ohrist-but simply this 
to read his sayings, and the delineation of his character 
they have been written down by some of IdrfoUow^r 
^ou are, I see, incredulous, but no more so than I wf; 


ZENOBIA. 


15 


myself only a year ago; yet you behold me a Christian. I 
h^ to contend against, perhaps, far more adverse influ- 
ences than would oppose you. You start with surprise 
that I should give evidence that I know you; but I have 
many a time seen you at the shop of Publius, and have 
heard you in your addresses to the people. 

‘ ‘ I am the son of a priest of the Temple of J upiter — of 
^ a man, who, to a mildness and gentleness of soul that 
would do honor to the Christian, added a faith in the relig- 
, ion of his fathers, deep-struck and firm-rooted as the rocks 
of ocean. 1 was his assistant in the duties of his office. 
My childish faith was all he could wish it; I reverenced a 
religion which had nurtured virtues like his. In process 
of time, I became myself a father. Four children, more 
beautiful than ever visited the dreams of Phidias, made my 
dwelling a portion of Elysium, as I then thought. Their 
mother — but why should I speak of her? It is enough to 
say, she was a Eoman mother. At home, it was my 
supreme happiness to sport with my little ones, or initiate 
them into the elements of useful knowledge. And often, 
when at the temple preparing for the days of ceremony, 
my children were with me; and my labors were nothing, 
cheered by the music of their feet running upon the mar- 
ble pavements, and of their merry voices echoing among 
the columns and arches of the vast interior. 0 days thrice 
happy! They were too happy to last. Within the space 
of one year — one cruel year — these four living idols were 
ravished from my arms by a prevailing disease. My wife, 
broken-hearted, soon followed them, and I was left alone. 
I need not describe my grief: I will only say, that with bit- 
ter imprecations I cursed the gods. ‘‘ Who are ye/ I 
cried, ^who sit above in your secure seats, and make your 
sport of human woe? Ye are less than men. Man though 
I am, I would not inflict upon the meanest slave the mis- 
ery ye have poured upon my defenseless head. Where are 
your mercies?’ I was frantic. How long this lasted I 
can not tell, for I took no note of time. I was awakened, 
may I not say saved, by a kind neighbor whom I had long 
known to be a Christian. He was a witness of my suffer- 
ings, and with deep compassion ministered to my necessi- 
ties. ‘ Probus,-’ said he, ‘ I know your sorrows, and I 
know your wants. I have perceived that neither your own 
thoughts, nor all the philosophy of your venerable father. 


16 


ZENOBIA. 


have brought you peace. It is not surprising: ye are but 
men, and ye have but the power and the wisdom of men. 
It is aid from the Divinity that you want. I will not dis- 
course with you; but I leave with you this book, which I 
simply ask you to read."^ I read it — and read it — again 
and again; and I am a Christian. As the Christian grew 
up within me, my pains were soothed, and days, once days 
of tears and unavailing complaints, are now days of calm 
and cheerful duty: I am a new man.^'’ 

I can not describe to you, my Curtius, the effect of this 
little narrative upon myself, or upon those who, as he 
spoke, had gathered round, especially those hard-featured 
soldiers. Tears flowed down their weather-beaten faces, 
and one of them— Macer, as I afterward learned — cried 
out: Where now are the gods of Eome?'"'’ Probus start- 

ed from his seat, apparently for the flrst time conscious of 
any other listener beside myself, and joined the master of 
the vessel at the helm. I resigned myself to meditation; 
and that night fell asleep, thinking of the Christian and 
his book. 

Leaving now Ostia and its fleet, greater even than that 
of ’the Tiber, flve days brought us in sight of the African 
shore, but quite to the west of Utica. So, coasting along, 
we presently came off against Hippo, and then doubling a 
promontory, both Utica and Carthage were at once visible 
— Utica nearer, Carthage just discernible in the distance. 
All was now noise and bustle, as we rapidly drew near the 
port. Many of our passengers were to land here, and they 
were busily employed, with the aid of the sailors, in collect- 
ing their merchandise or their baggage. The soldiers des- 
tined to the African service here left us, together with the 
Jew Isaac and the Christian Probus. I was sorry to lose 
them, as beside them there was not one on board, except 
the governor of the ship, from whose company or conversa- 
tion I could derive either pleasure or knowledge. They 
are both, however, destined to Palmyra, and I shall soon 
expect them to join me here. You smile at my speaking 
thus of a traveling Jew and a despised Christian, but in 
the issue you will acknowledge your as well as my obliga- 
tions to them both. ^ I confess myself attached to them. 
As the Jew turned to bid me farewell, before he sprung on 
shore, he said : , 

Most noble Piso, if thou forsakest the gods of Rome, 


ZENOBIA. 


17 


let it be for the synagogue of the children of Abraham, 
whose faith is not of yesterday. Be not beguiled by the 
specious tongue of that heretic Probus. I can tell thee a 
better story than his. 

‘‘Fear not, honest Isaac, I cried; “ I am not yet so 
weary of the faith of my ancestors. That can not be alto- 
gether despicable, which has had power to bind in one 
mass the whole Eoman people for so many ages. I shall 
be no easy convert to either you or Probus. Farewell, to 
meet in Tadmor."’’’ 

Probus now passed me, and said: “ If I should not see 
you in the Eastern capital,' according to my piu’pose, I 
trust I shall in Koine. My dwelling is in the Livian Way 
not far from the Pantheon, opposite the well-known house 
of Vitruvius, still so called; or, at the shop of the learned 
Publius, I may be seen every morning, and may there be 
always heard of. 

I assured him, that no affairs could be so pressing, after 
I should return to Rome, as not to allow me to seek him, 
but that I hoped the fates would not interpose to deprive 
me of the pleasure of first seeing him in Palmyra. 

So we parted. And very soon after, the merchandise 
and passengers being all landed, we set sail again, and 
stood out to sea. I regretted that we were not to touch at 
Carthage, as my desire had always been strong to see that 
famous place. An adverse wind, however, setting in from 
the North, drove us further toward the city than the pilot 
intended to have gone, and I thus obtained quite a satis- 
factory glimpse of the African capital. I was surprised at 
the indications of its vastness and grandeur. Since its at- 
tempted restoration by Augustus, it has advanced steadily 
to almost its former populousness and magnificence. Noth- 
ing could be more imposing and beautiful, than its long- 
lines of buildings, its towers, walls, palaces, and columns, 
seen through the warm and rosy mist of an African sky. 
I could hardly believe that I was looking but upon a pro- 
vincial city, a dependent upon almighty Rome. It soon 
sunk below the horizon, as its glory had sunk once beiore. 

I will not detain you long with our voyage, but will only 
mark out its course. Leaving the African shore, we struck 
across to Sicily, and coasting along its eastern border, be- 
held with pleasure the towering form of ^]tna, sending up 
into the heavens a dull and sluggish cloud of vapors. We 


18 


ZEXOBIA. 


then ran between the Peloponnesus and Crete, and so held 
our course til] the Island of Cj^prus rose like her own fair 
goddess from the ocean, and filled our eyes with a beauti- 
ful vision of hill and valley, wooded promontory, and glit- 
tering towns and villas. A fair wind soon withdrew us 
from these charming prospects, and after driving us swiftly 
and roughly over the remainder of our way, rewarded us 
with a brighter and more welcome vision still — the coast of 
Syria and our destined port, Berytus. 

As far as the eye could reach, both toward the North 
and the South, we beheld a luxuriant region, crowded with 
villages, and giving every indication of comfort and wealth. 
The city itself, which we rapidly approached, was of in- 
ferior size, but presented an agreeable prospect of ware- 
houses, public and private edifices, overtopped here and 
there by the lofty palm, and other trees of a new and 
peculiar foliage. Four days were consumed here in the 
purchase of slaves, camels, and horses, and in other prep- 
arations for the journey across the Desert. Two routes 
presented themselves, one more, the other less direct; the 
last, though more circuitous, appeared to me the more de- 
sirable, as it would take me within sight of the modern 
glories and ancient remains of Heliopolis. This, therefore, 
was determined upon; and on the morning of the fifth day 
we set forward upon our long march. Four slaves, two 
camels, and three horses, with an Arab conductor, consti- 
tuted our little caravan; but for greater safety we attached 
ourselves to a much larger one than our own, in which we 
were swallowed up and lost, consisting of travelers and 
traders, from all parts of the world, and who were also on 
their way to Palmyra, as a point whence to separate to 
various parts of the vast East. It would delight me to lay 
before you with the distinctness and minuteness of a pict- 
ure, the whole of this novel, and to me most interesting 
route; but I must content myself with a slight sketch, and 
reserve fuller communications to the time when, once more 
seated with you upon the Coelian, we enjoy the freedom of 
social converse. 

Our way through the valleys of Libanus, was like one 
long wandering among the pleasure-grounds of opulent 
citizens. The land was everywhere richly cultivated, and 
a happier peasantry, as far as the eye of the traveler could 
judge, nowhere exists. The most luxuriant valleys of our 


ZENOBIA. 


19 


own Italy are not more crowded with the evidences of 
plenty and contentment. Upon drawing near to the an- 
cient Baalbec, I found on inquiry of our guide, that w^e 
were not to pass through it as I had hoped, nor even very 
near it, not nearer than between- two and three miles. So 
that in this I had been clearly deceived by those of whom I 
had made the most exact inquiries at Berytus. I thought 
I discovered great command of myself, in that I did not 
break the head of my Arab, who doubtless, to answer pur- 
poses of his own, had brought me thus out of my way for 
nothing. The event proved, however, that it was not for 
nothing; for soon after we had started on our journey, on 
the morning of the second day, turning suddenly round 
the projecting rock of a mountain ridge, we all at once be- 
held, as if a veil had been lifted up, Heliopolis and its sub- 
urbs, spread out before us in all their various beauty. The 
city lay about three miles distant. I could only, therefore, 
identify its principal structure, the Temple of the Sun, as 
built by the first Antonine. This towered above the walls, 
and over all the other buildings, and gave vast ideas of the 
greatness of the place, leading the mind to crowd it with 
other edifices that -should bear some proportion to this no- 
ble monument of imperial magnificence. As suddenly as 
the view of this imposing scene had been revealed, so sud- 
denly was it again eclipsed, by another short turn in the 
road, which took us once more into the mountain valleys. 
But the overhanging and impenetrable foliage of a Syrian 
forest, shielding me from the fierce rays of a burning sun, 
soon reconciled me to my loss— more especially as I knew 
that in a short time we were to enter upon the sandy des- 
ert, which stretches from the Anti-Libanus almost to the 

very walls of Palmyra. , j mi. 

Upon this boundless desert we now soon entered, ihe 
scene which it presented was more dismal than I can de- 
scribe. A red moving sand — or hard and baked by the 
heat of a sun such as Eome never knows— low gray rocks 
just rising here and there above the level of the plain, with 
now and then the dead and glittering trunk of a vast 
cedar, whose roots seemed as if they had outlasted centur- 
ies— the bones of camels and elephants, scattered on either 
hand, dazzling the sight by reason of their excessive white- 
i^egg — at a distance occasionally an Arab of the desert, lor 
a moment surveying our long line, and then darting oil to 


20 


ZEJfOBIA. 


his fastnesses — these were the objects which, with scarce 
any variation, met our eyes during the four wearisome 
days that we dragged ourselves over this wild and inhos- 
pitable region. A little after the noon of the fourth day, 
as we started on our way, having refreshed ourselves and 
our exhausted animals at a spring which here poured out its 
warm but still grateful waters to the traveler, my ears 
received the agreeable news that toward the east there 
could now be discerned the dark line, which indicated our 
approach to the verdant tract that encompasses the great 
city. Our own excited spirits were quickly imparted to our 
beasts, and a more rapid movement soon revealed into 
distinctness the high land and waving groves of palm-trees 
which mark the site of Palmyra. 

It was several miles before we reached the city, that we 
suddenly found ourselves — ^landing as it were from a sea 
upon an island or continent — in a rich and thickly peopled 
country. The roads indicated an approach to a great cap- 
ital, in the increasing numbers of those who thronged 
them, meeting and passing us, overtaking us, or crossing 
our way. Elephants, camels, and the dromedary, which I 
had before seen only in the amphitheaters, I here beheld 
as the native inhabitants of the soil. Frequent villas of 
the rich and luxurious Palmyrenes, to which they retreat 
from the greater heats of the city, now threw a lovely charm 
over the scene. Nothing can exceed the splendor of these 
sumptuous palaces. Italy itself has nothing which sur- 
passes them. The new and brilliant costumes of the per- 
sons whom we met together with the rich housings of the 
animals they rode, served greatly to add to all this beauty. 

I was still entranced, as it were, by the objects around me, 
and buried in reflection, when I was roused Jl^y the shout 
of those who led the caravan, and who had attained the 
summit of a little rising ground, saying, “ Palmyra I 
Palmyra!"" I urged forward my steed, and in a moment 
the most wonderful prospect I ever beheld — no, I can not 
except even Pome — burst upon my sight. Flanked by 
hills of considerable elevation on the Fast, the city filled 
the whole plain below as far as the eye could reach, both 
toward the North and toward the South. This immense^ 
plain was all one vast and boundless city. It seemed to 
me to be larger than Rome. Yet I knew very well that it 
could not be that it was not. And it was some time 


ZENOBIA. 


21 


befote I understood the true character of the scene before 
me, so as to separate the city from the country, and the 
country from the city, which here wonderfully interpene- 
trate each other and so confound and deceive the observer. 
For the city proper is so studded with groups of lofty palm- 
trees, shooting up among its temples and palaces, and on 
the other hand, the plain in its immediate vicinity is so 
thickly adorned with magnificent structures of the purest 
marble, that it is not easy, nay it is impossible at the dis- 
tance at which I contemplated the whole, to distinguish 
the line which divided the one from the other. It was all 
city and all country, all country and all city. Those which 
lay before me I was ready to believe were the Elysian 
Fields. I imagined that I saw under my feet the dwellings 
of purified men and of gods. Certainly they were too glori- 
ous for the mere earth-born. There was a central point, 
however, which chiefly fixed my attention, where the vast 
Temple of the Sun stretched upward its thousand columns 
of polished marble to the heavens, in its matchless beauty 
casting into the shade every other work of art of which 
the world can boast. I have stood before the Parthenon, 
and have almost worshiped that divine achievement of the 
immoral Phidias. But it is a toy by the side of this bright 
crown of the Eastern capital. I have been at Milan, at 
Ephesus, at Alexandria, at Antioch; but in neither of 
those renowned cities have I beheld anything that I can 
allow to approach in united extent, grandeur, and most 
consummate beauty, this almost more than work of man. 
On each side of this, the central point, there rose upward 
slender pyramids — pointed obelisks — domes of the most 
graceful proportions, columns, arches and lofty towers, for 
number and for form, beyond my power to describe. 
These buildings, as well as the walls of the city, being all 
either of white marble, or of some stone as white, and being 
everywhere in their whole extent interspersed, as I have 
already said, with multitudes of overshadowing palm-trees, 
l^erfectly filled and satisfied my sense of beauty, and made 
me feel for the moment, as if in such a scene I should love 
to dwell, and there end my days. Nor was I alone in these 
transports of delight. All my fellow-travelers seemed 
equally affected: and from the native Palmyrenes, of whom 
there were many among us, the most impassioned and 
boastful exclamations broke forth. What is Rome to 


22 


ZENOBIA. 


they cried: ^‘Fortune is not constant. Why may 
not Palmyra be what Eome has been — mistress of the 
world? Who more fit to rule than -the great Zenobia? 
A few years may see great changes. Who can tell what 
shall come to pass?^^ These, and many such sayings, were 
uttered by those around me, accompanied by many sig- 
nificant gestures and glances of the eye. 1 thought of them 
afterward. We now descended the hill, and the long line 
of oui* caravan moved on toward the city. 


LETTER II. 

I FEAR lest the length of my first letter may have 
fatigued you, my Curtius, knowing as I so well do, how 
you esteem brevity. I hope at this time not to try your 
patience. But, however I may weary or vex you by my 
garrulity, I am sure of a patient and indulgent reader in 
the dear Lucilia, to whom I would now first of all com- 
mend myself. I salute her, and with her the little Gallus. 
My writing to you is a sufficient proof that I myself am 
well. 

By reason of our delaying so long on that little hill, and 
at other points, for the sake of drinking in full draughts 
of the unrivaled beauty which lay spread over all the 
scenery within the scope of our vision, we did not approach 
the walls of the city till the last rays of the sun were lin- 
gering upon the higher buildings of the capital. This ren- 
dered every object so much the more beautiful; for a fiood 
of golden light, of a richer hue, it seemed to me, than our 
sun ever sheds upon Rome, rolled over the city, and plain, 
and distant mountains, giving to the whole a gorgeousness 
altogether beyond anything I ever saw before, and agree- 
ing well with all my impressions of oriental magnificence. 
It was seen under the right aspect. Not one expectation 
was disappointed but rather exceeded as we came in sight 
of the vast walls of the city, and of the Roman Gate 
— so it is called — through which we were to make our en- 
trance. It was all upon the grandest scale. The wails 
were higher, and more frequently defended by square 
massy towers springing out of them, than those of Rome. 
The towers, which on either side fianked the gate-way, and 
which were connected by an immense arch flung from one 


ZENOBIA. 


23 


fo the other, were particularly magnificent. Iso sooner 
had we passed through, than we found ourselves in a street 
lined as it were with palaces. It was of great width — we 
have no street like it in this respect — of an exact level, and 
stretched onward further than the eye could distinctly 
reach, being terminated by another gate similar to that by 
which we had entered. The buildings on either side were 
altogether of marble, of Grecian design — the city is filled 
with Greek artists of every description — frequently adorned 
with porticos of the most rich and costly construction and 
by long ranges of private dwellings, interrupted here and 
there by temples of religion, edifices of vast extent belong- 
ing to the state, or by gardens attached to the residences of 
the luxurious Palmyrene nobility. 

“ It is well for Palmyra, here muttered my slave Milo, 

that the Emperor has never, like us, traveled this way.-’^ 
Why so, Milo?^^ said L 

‘‘ I simply think, rejoined he, “ that he would burn it 
down; and it were a pity so many fine buildings should be 
destroyed. Was there not once a place called Carthage? I 
have heard it said that it was as large as Pome, and as 
well garnished with temples, and that for that reason the 
Eomans ‘ blotted it out. The people here may thank 
the desert which we have crossed, that they are not as 
Carthage. Aurelian, I trow, little dreams what glory is 
to be won here in the East, or else he would not waste his 
time upon the savage Goths. 

“ The Eomans are no longer barbarians,"" I replied, “ as 
they were once. They build up now, instead of demolish- 
ing. Eemember that Augustus rebuilt Carthage, and that 
the first Antonine founded that huge and beautiful temple 
which rose out of the midst of Baalbec; and besides — if I 
am not mistaken — many of the noblest monuments of art 
in this very city are the fruit of his munificence. "" 

‘‘ Gods, what a throng is here!"" ejaculated Milo, little 
heeding, apparently, what I had said; “ how are we to get 
our beasts along? They pay no more regard to us, either, 
than if we were not Eomans. Could any one have believed 
that a people existed of snch strange customs and appear- 
ance? What carriages! what wagons! what animals! 
what fantastical attire! and from every comer of the earth, 
too, as it would seem! But it is a pretty sight. Pity 
though but they could move as quick, as they look well. 


24 


ZENOBIA. 


Fellow, there! you will gratify us if you will start your 
camels a little out of our way. We wish to make toward 
the house of Gracchus, and we can not pass you.-’^ 

The rider of the camel turned round his turbaned head, 
and fixing upon Milo a pair of fierce eyes, bade him hold 
his peace: 

Did he not see the street was crowded?^-’ 

^ I see it is filled with a set of dull idlers, replied Milo, 
‘‘ who want nothing but Homan rods to teach them a 
quick and wholesome movement. Friend, lend me thy 
cudgel; and I will engage to set thy beasts and thee too in 
motion. If not, consider that we are new-comers, and 
Homans withal, and that we deserve some regard. 

Homans!^^ screamed he; may curses light on you. 
You swarm here like locusts, and like them you come but 
to devour. Take my counsel: turn your faces the other 
way, and off to the desert again? I give you no welcome, 
for one. Now pass on — if on you still will go — and take 
the curse of Hassan the Arab along with you. 

Milo,’’ ^ said I, “have a care how you provoke these 
Orientals. Bethink yourself that we are not now in the 
streets of Rome. Bridle your tongue betimes, or your head 
may roll off your shoulders before you can have time to eat 
your words to save it. 

“ I am a slave indeed, answered Milo, with some dig- 
nity for him, “ but I eat other food than my own words. 
In that there hangs something of the Homan about me."^ 
We were now opposite what I discovered, from the 
^atues and emblems upon it and surrounding it, to be the 
Temple of Justice, and I knew therefore that the palace 
on the other side of the street, adorned with porticos, and 
partly hidden among embowering trees and shrubs, must 
be the dwelling of Gracchus. 

We turned down into a narrower street, and after pro- 
ceeding a little way, passed under a massy arched gate- 
way, and found ourselves in the spacious court-yard of this 
princel}^ mansion. Slaves soon surrounded us, and by 
•their alacrity in assisting me to dismount, and in perform- 
ing every office of a hospitable reception, showed that we 
weie expected guests, and that my letters announcing my 
intended visit had been received. Leaving my slaves and 
effects to the care of the servants of the house, I followed 
one who seemed to be a sort of head among them, through 


ZEiq-OBIA. 


25 

walks bordered with the choicest trees, flowers and shrubs, 
opening here and there in the most graceful manner to 
reveal a statue of some sylvan god reclining under the 
shade, and soon reached the rear of the house, which I 
entered by a flight of marble steps. Through a lofty hall 
I passed into a saloon which seemed the reception-room of 
the palace, where I had hardly arrived, and obtained one 
glance at my soiled dress and sun-burned visage in the mir- 
ror, than my ear caught the quick sound of a female foot 
. hastening over the pavement of the hall, and turning sud- 
denly I caught in my arms the beautiful Fausta. It was 
well for me that I ’ was so taken by surprise, for I acted 
naturally, which I fear I should not have done if I had had 
a moment to dehberate before I met her; for she is no 
longer a girl, as in Eome, running and jumping after her 
slave to school, but a nearly full-grown woman, and of a 
beauty so imposing as might well cause embarrassment in 
a .youth of even more pretensions than myself. 

“ Are you indeed, said I, retaining each hand in mine, 
but feeling that in spite of all my assumed courage I was 
covered with blushes, “ are you indeed the little Fausta? 
Truly there must be marvelous virtues in the air of 
Palmyra. It is but six years since you left Eome, and 
then, as I remember — shall I mention such a thing? j^ou 
were but twelve, and now though but — 

“ Oh, cried she, ‘‘never begin such a speech! it will 
only trouble you before you can end it. How glad I am to 
see you! Welcome, dear Lucius, to Palmyra! If open 
hearts can make you happy here, you will not fail to be so. 
But how did you leave all in Eome? First, your friend 
Marcus? and Lucilia? and the noble, good Portia? Ah! 
how happy were those days in Eome! Come sit on these 
cushions by this open window. But more than all, how 
does the dear pedagogue and dialectician, the learned 
Solon? Is he as wise yet as his great namesake? Oh, 
what days of merriment have his vanity and simplicity 
afforded me! But he was a good soul. Would he could 
have accompanied you. You are not so far out of leading- 
strings that you could not have taken him with you as a 
traveling Mentor. In truth, nothing could have given me 
more pleasure. 

“I came away in great haste, dear Fausta,"'^ said I, 
“ with scarce a moment for preparation of any kind. You 


26 


ZENOBIA. 


have but this morning received my letter, which was but 
part of a day in advance of me. If I could have done it, I 
should have given you more timely notice. I could not 
therefore look out for companions for the way. It would, 
however, have been a kindness to Solon, and a pleasure to 
me. But why have I not before asked for your father? is 
not Gracchus at home? — and is he well?^^ 

‘‘He is at home, or rather he is in the city, replied 
Bausta, “ and why he makes it so late before returning, I 
can not tell : but you will soon see him. In the meantime, 
let my slaves show you where to find your rooms, that you 
. may rest and prepare for supper. 

So saying, she clapped her hands, and a tall Ethiopian, 
with a turban as white as his face was black, quickly made 
his appearance and took me in his charge. 

“ Look well after your toilet,"'^ cried Fausta, laughing as 
. I left the room; “ we think more of costume here than 
they do in Rome.'’^ 

I followed my dark conductor through many passages to 
a distant part of the building, where I found apartments 
furnished with every luxury, and already prepared for my 

“ Here I have carefully placed your baggage,"^ said the 
slave as I entered the room, “ and whatever else I thought 
you might need. Call Hannibal when you wish for my 
services; I am now yours. This door leads to a small room 
where will lodge your own slave, Milo; the others are in the 
stables. Thus delivering himself, he departed. 

The windows of my apartment opened upon the wide 
street by which we had entered the city, not immediately, 
but first upon a border of trees and flowers, then upon a 
low wall, here and there crowned with a statue or a vase 
which separated the house from the street, and last upon 
the street itself, its busy throngs and noble structures. I 
stood for a moment enjoying the scene, rendered more im- 
pressive by the dim but still glowing light of the declining 
day. bounds of languages winch I knew not fell upon my 
ear, sent forth by those who urged along through the 
crowds their cattle, or by those who would draw attention 
to the articles which they had to sell. All was new and 
strange, and tended, together with my reflections upon the 
business which had borne me so far from my home and 


ZENOBIA. 


37 


you, to fill me with melancholy. I was roused from my 
reverie by the voice of Milo. 

If, said he, the people of these eastern regions un- 
derstand better than we of Rome the art of taking off heads, 
they certainly understand better, as in reason they should, 
the art of making them comfortable while they are on: 
already I have taken a longer draught at a wine skin than 
I have been blessed with since I was in the service of the 
most noble Gallienus. Ah, that was life! He was your 
true philosopher who thought life made for living. These 
Palmyrenes seem of his school. 

Leave philosophy, good Milo, and come help me dress; 
that is the matter now in hand. Unclasp these trunks and 
find something that shall not deform me.'’^ 

So desirous was I, you perceive, to appear well in the 
eyes of the fair Fausta. 

It was now the appointed hour to descend to the supper- 
room, and as I was about to leave my apartment, hardly 
knowing which way to move, the Ethiopian, Hannibal, 
made his appearance, to serve as my conductor. 

I was ushered into an apartment, not large, but of ex- 
quisite proportions— circular, and of the most perfect archi- 
tecture, oh the Greek principles. The walls, thrown into 
panels between the windows and doors, were covered with 
paintings, admirable both for their design and color; and 
running all around the room, and attached to the walls,, 
was a low and" broad seat, covered with cushions of the 
richest workmanship and material. A lofty and arched 
ceiling, lighted by invisible lamps, represented a banquet 
of the gods, offering to those seated at the tables below a 
high example of the manner in which the divine gifts 
should be enjoyed. This evening, at least, we did not use 
the privileges which that high example sanctioned. Fausta 
was already in the room, and rose with affectionate haste 
to greet me again. 

“ I fear my toilet has not been very successful, Fausta, 
said I, “ for my slave, Milo, was too much elated by the 
generous wines with which his companions had plied him, 
as a cordial after the fatigues of the journey, to give me 
any of the benefit of his taste or assistance. I have been 
my own artificer on this occasion, and you must therefore 
be gentle in your judgments. 

‘^I can not say that your fashions are equally tasteful 


28 


ZENOBIA. 


with those of our Palmyrenes, I must confess. The love 
of the beautiful, the magnificent, and tlie luxurious, is our 
national fault, Lucius; it betrays itself in every depart- 
ment of civil and social life, and not unfrequently declines 
into a degrading eifeminacy. If anything ruin us, it will 
be this vice. I assure you I was rather jesting than in 
earnest, when I bade you look to your toilet. When you 
shall have seen some of our young nobles, you will find 
reason to be proud of your comparative simplicity. I hear, 
however, that you are not now far behind us in Rome — 
nay, m many excesses, you go greatly beyond us. We have 
never yet had a Vitellius, a Pollio, or a Gallienus. And 
may the sands of the desert bury us a thousand fathoms 
deep, ere such monsters shall be bred and endured in 
Palmyra 

I perceive,^ ^ said I, ‘‘ that your sometime residence in 
Rome has not taught you to love your native country less, 
li but a small portion of the fire which I see burning in 
your eye warm the hearts of the people, it will be no easy 
matter for any external foe to subdue you, however vice 
and luxury may do it.-’^- 

“ There are not many, I believe,"" replied Fausta, ‘‘ of 
your or my sex in Palmyra, who would with more alacrity 
lay down their lives for their country and our sweet and 
noble queen, than I. But believe me, Lucius, there are 
multitudes who would do it as soon. Zenobia will lead 
the way to no battle-field where Fausta, girl though she 
Remember what I say, I pray you, if 
difiiculty should ever again grow up— which the gods fore- 
fend ; between us and Rome. But, truth to say, we are 
in more danger from ourselves than from Rome."" 

We were now suddenly interrupted by the loud and 
cheerful voice of pracchus, exclaiming, as he approached ' 

us from the great hall of the palace, ‘‘ How now^ How 

nowl-whom have we here? Are my eyes and ears true to 
their report— Lucius Piso? It is he indeed. Thrice wel- 
come to Palmyra! May a visit from so good and great a 
house be an augury of good/ You are qiiick indeed upon 
the track of your-letter. How have you sped by the way? 

I need not ask after your own welfare, for I see it but I 
am impatient to learn all that you can tell me of friends 

told P ^ been once 

told to Fausta, but, as a penalty for arriving while I was 


ZENOBIA. 


29 

absent, it must be repeated for my special pleasure. But 
come, that can be done while we sit at table: I see the sup- 
per waits. ^ 

In this pleasant mood did the father of Fausta, and now, 
as you know, one of the chief pillars of the province or 
kingdom whichever it must be called — receive me. I 
was struck with the line union in his appearance and man- 
ner of courtly ease, and a noble Roman frankness. His 
head, slightly bald but cast in the truest mold of manly 
beauty, would have done honor to any of his illustrious 
ancestors; and his figure was entirely worthy of that fault- 
less crown. I confess I experienced a pang of regret that 
one so fitted to sustain and adorn the greatness of his par- 
ent country had chosen to cast his fortunes so far from the 
great center and heart of the Empire. After the first 
duties of the table had been gone through with, and my 
hunger — real hunger— had been appeased by the various 
delicacies which my kind hostess urged upon me, noways 
unwilling to receive such tokens of regard, I took up the 
questions of Gracchus, and gave him a full account of our 
social and political state in Rome, to all which Fausta too 
lent a greedy ear, her fine face sparkling with the intelli- 
gence which beamed out from every feature. It was easy to 
see how deep an interest she takes in matters to which her 
sex are usually so insensible. It is indescribable, the im- 
perial pride and lofty spirit of independence which at times 
sat upon her brow and curled her lip. She seems to me 
m^e to command. She is indeed courteous and kind, 
but you not with difiiculty see that she is bold, aspiring 
and proud, beyond the common measure of woman. Her 
beauty is of this character. It is severe, rather than in 
any sense soft or feminine. Her features are those of her 
father, truly Roman in their outline, and their combined 
expression goes to impress every beholder with the truth 
that Roman blood alone, and that too of all the Gracchi, 
runs in her veins. Her form harmonizes perfectly with 
the air and character of the face. It is indicative of great 
vigor and decision in every movement; yet it is graceful, 
and of such proportions as would suit the most fastidious 
Greek. I am thus minute in telling you how Fausta struck 
me, because I know the interest you and Lucilia both take 
in her, and how you will desire to have from me as exact 
a picture as I can draw. Be relieved, my dear friends, as 


30 


ZENOBIA. 


to the state of my heart, nor indulge in either hopes or 
suspicions in this direction. I assure you I am not yet a 
captive at the fair feet of Fausta, nor do I think I shall be. 
But if such a thing should happen, depend upon my friend- 
ship to give you the earliest intelligence of the event. 
Whoever shall obtain the heart of Frusta, will win one of 
which a OaBsar might be proud. But to return to our 
present interview and its event. 

No sooner had I ended my account of the state of affairs 
at Rome, than Gracchus expressed, in the strongest terms, 
his joy that we were so prosperous. It agrees,^ ^ said he, 
with all that we have .lately heard. Aurelian is in truth 
entitled to the praise which belongs to a reformer of the 
state. The army has not been under such discipline since 
the da3^s of Vespasian. He has now, as we learn by the 
last arrival of news from the North, by the way of Antioch 
nearly completed the subjection of the Goths and Ale- 
manni, and rumors are afloat of an unpleasant nature, of 
an Eastern expedition. For this no ground occurs to me 
except, possibly, an atternpt upon Persia, for the rescue of 
Valerian, if yet he be living, or for the general vindication 
ot the iionw of Rome against the disgraceful successes of 
the Great King. I can not for one moment believe that 
toward Palmyra any other policy will be adopted than that 
which has been pursued for the last century and a half, and 
emphatically sanctioned, as you well know, by both Gal- 
lienus and Claudius. Standing on the honorable footing- 
as nominally a part of the empire of Rome, but in fact a 
sovereign and independent power, we enjoy all that we can 
desire in the form of political privileges. Then for our 
commerce, it could not be more flourishing, or conducted 
on more adyantageous terms even to Rome itself. In one 
word, we are contented, prosperous, and happy, and the 
crime of that man would be great indeed, wlm, from any 
motive of personal ambition, or any policy of state, would 
all the world relations of peace and friendship with 

To this I replied: I most sincerely trust that no design 
such as you hint at, exists in the mind of Aurelian. I 
Know him, and know him to be ambitious and imperious 
as he IS great in resources and unequaled in military 
science, but wRlml he is a man of wisdom, and in the main, 
ot justice too. That he is a true lover of his country, I am 


ZEXOBIA. 


31 

sure; and that the glory of that country is dearer to him 
than all other objects— that it rises in him almost to a 
species of madness— this I know too; and it is from this 
quarter, if from any, that danger is to be apprehended. 
He vvill have Rome to be all in all. His desire is that it 
should once more possess the unity that it did under the 
Autonmes. This idea, dwelt upon, may lead him into 
enterprises from which, however defended on the ground 
of the empire^s glory, will result in nothing but discredit 
to himself and injury to the state. I too have heard the 
lumors of which you speak, but I can not give them one 
moment^s credence; and I pray most fervently that, 
springing as they do no one knows whence nor on what 
authority resting, they will not be permitted to have the 
least effect upon the mind of the Queen, nor upon any of 
her advisers. She is now in reality an independent sove- 
reign, reigning over an immense empire, stretching from 
Egypt to the shores of the Euxine, from the Mediterranean 
to the Euphrates, and she still stands upon the records of 
the senate as a colleague— even as when Odenatus shared 
the throne with her — of the Emperor. This is a great and 
a fortunate position. The gods forbid that any intemper- 
ance on the part of the Palmyrenes should rouse the an o'er 
or the jealousy of the fierce Aurelian!"-’ 

Could I have said less than this? But I saw in the 
countenances of both, while I was speaking, especially in 
the honest, expressive one of Fausta, that they could brook 
no liint of inferiority or of dependence on the part of their 
country; so deep a place has the great Zenobia secured for 
herself in the pride and most sacred affections of this 


I will not, with you, Piso,"" said Gracchus, believe 
that the Emperor will do aught to break up the present 
harmony. I will have faith in him; and I shall use all - 
the influence that I may possess in the affairs of the state 
to infuse a spirit of moderation into our acts, and above all 
into our language; for one hasty word uttered in certain “ 
quarters may lead to the ruin of kingdoms that have taken 
centuries to attain their growth. But this I say: let there 
only come over here from the West the faintest whisper of 
any purpose on the part of Aurelian to consider Zenobia as 
holding the same position in regard to Rome as Tetricus in 
Gaul, and that moment a flame is kindled throughout 


32 


ZENOBIA. 


Palmyra that nothing but blood can quench. This peo- 
ple, as you well know, has been a free people from the 
earliest records of history, and they will sink under the 
ruins of their capital and their country, ere they will bend 
to a foreign power. 

‘‘ That will they! — that will they, indeed cried Pausta; 

there is not a Palmyrene who, had he two lives, would 
not give one for liberty, and the other for his good Queen. 
You do not know Zenobia, Lucius, nor can you tell, there- 
fore, how reasonable the afiPection is which binds every 
heart to her as to a mother or a sister. 

‘‘But enough of this for the jDresent,^^ said Gracchus; 

let us leave the affairs of nations, and ascend to those of 
private individuals — for I suppose your philosophy teaches 
you, as it does me, that individual happiness is the object 
for which governments are instituted, and that they are 
therefore less than this. Let us ascend, I say, from the 
policy of Pome and of Aurelian, to the private affairs of 
our friend Lucius Piso; for your letter gives me the privi- 
lege of asking you to tell us, in all frankness and love, 
what, beside the pleasure of seeing us, brings you so far 
from Rome. It is, you hint, a business of a iDainful nat- 
ure. L^se me and Fausta, as you would in Rome Portia 
and the good Lucilia, with the same freedom and the same 
assurance of our friendship. 

“Do, so, indeed,"" added Fausta, with affectionate 
warmth, “ and feel that, in addressing us, you are entrust- 
ing your thoughts to true and long-tried friends."" 

“ I have,"" replied I, ‘‘but little to commimicate, but 
that little is great in its interest, and demands immediate 
action; and touching what shall be most expedient to be 
done, I shall want and shall ask your deliberate counsel. 
You are well aware, alas! too well aware, of the cruel fate 
of my parent, the truly great Cneius Piso, whom to name 
IS always a spring of strength to my virtues. With the 
unhappy Valerian, to whom he clung to the last, resolved 
to die with him, or suffer with him whatever the fates 
should decree, he passed into captivity; but of too proud a 
spirit to endure the indignities which were heaped upon 
the Emperor, and which were threatened him, he— so we 
have learned destroyed himself. He found an opportu- 
nity, however, before he thus noblv used his power, to 
exhort my poor brothers not at once, at least, to follow'his 


ZEKOBIA. 


33 


example. ‘You are young/ said he, ‘and have more 
Strength than I, and the gods may interpose and deliver 
dwells with youth, as it dies with age. Do 
not despair. I feel that you will one day return to Rome. 
For myself, I am a decayed trunk, at best, and it matters 
little when I fall, or where I lie. One thing, at least, I can 
not bear; it would destroy me if I did not destroy myself 
I am a Roman and a Piso, and the foot of a Persian shall 
never plant itself upon my neck. I die." My elder 
brother, thinking example a more powerful kind of precept 
than words, no sooner was assured of the death of his fa- 
ther, than he too opened his veins, and perished. And so 
we learned had Calpurnius done, and we were compara- 
tively happy in the thought that they had escaped by a 
voluntary death the shame of being used as footstools by 
the haughty Sapor, and the princes of his court. But a 
rumor reached us a few days before I left Rome, that Cal- 
purnius is yet living. We learn, obscurely, that being fav- 
orably distinguished and secretly favored by the son of 
Sapor, he was persuaded to live, and wait for the times to 
open a way for his escape. You may imagine both my 
pief and my joy on this intelligence. The thought that 
he should so long have lain in captivity and imprisonment, 
and no step have been taken toward ‘his rescue, has 
weighed upon me with a mountain weight of sorrow. lYt 
at the same time, I have been supported by the hope that 
his deliverance may be effected, and that he may return to 
Rome once more, to glad the eyes of the aged Portia. It 
is this hope which has brought me to Palmyra, as perhaps 
the best point whence to set in motion the measures which 
it shall be thought wisest to adopt. I shall rely much 
upon your counsel. "" No sooner had I spoken thus, than 
’Pausta quickly exclaimed: 

‘‘ 0 father, how easily, were the Queen nowin Palmyra, 
might we obtain through her the means of approaching the 
Persian King with some hope of a successful appeal to his 
compassion!— and yet — She hesitated and paused. 

‘‘ I perceive,"" said Gracchus, what it is that checks 
your speech. You feel that in this matter Zenobia would 
have no power with the Persian monarch or court. The 
two nations are now, it is true, upon friendly terms; but a 
deep hatred exists in the heart of Sapor toward Zenobia. 
The successive defeats which he suffered, when Odenatus 
2 


34 


ZEKOBIA. 


and his Queen took it upon them to vindicate the honor of 
Eome, and revenge the foul indignities cast upon the un- 
fortunate Valerian, will never be forgotten; and policy 
only, not love or regard, keeps the peace between Persia 
and Palmyra. Sapor fears the power of Zenobia, support- 
ed, as he knows she would be in case of rupture, by the 
strength of Eome; and moreover, he is well aware that 
Palmyra serves as a protecting wall between him and 
Eome, and that her existence as an independent power is 
vital to the best interests of his kingdom. For these rea- 
sons harmony prevails, and in the event of war between us 
and Eome, we might with certainty calculate upon Persia 
as an ally. Still Sapor is an enemy at heart. His pride, 
humbled as it was by that disastrous rout, when his whole 
camp and even his wives fell into the hands of the Eoyal 
Odenatus, will never recover from the wound, and will 
prompt to acts of retaliation and revenge, rather than to 
any deed of kindness. While his public policy is, and 
doubtless will continue to be, pacific, his private feelings 
are, and ever will be, bitter. I see not how in this busi- 
ness we can rely with any hope of advantage upon the in- 
terposition of the Queen. If your brother is ever rescued, 
it must, I think, be achieved by private enterprise. 

‘‘ Your words, said I, have pierced me through with 
grief, and dispelled in a moment the brightest visions. All 
the way from Eome have I been cheered by the hope of 
what the Queen, at your solicitation, would be able to at- 
tempt and accomplish in my behalf. But it is all over. I 
feel the truth of what you have urged. I see it — I now 
see it — private enterprise can alone effect his deliverance, 
and from this moment I devote myself to that work. If 
Eome leave her Emperor to die in captivity, so will not I 
my brother. I will go myself to the den of this worse than 
barbarian king, and bring thence the loved Calpurnius, or 
leave my own body there for that beast to batten on. It is 
now indeed thirteen years since Calpurnius left me, a child 
in Eome, to join the Emperor in that ill-fated expedition. 
But it is with the distinctness of a yesterday’s vision that 
he now stands before my eyes, as he then stood that day he 
parted from us, glittering in his brilliant armor, and his 
face just as brilliant with the light of a great and trusting 
spirit. As he turned from the last embraces of the weep- 
ing Portia, he seized me in his arms, who stood jingling 


ZEN'OBIA. 


35 


his sword against his iron greaves, and imprinting upon 
my cheek a kiss, bade me grow a man at once, to take care 
ot the household, while they were gone with the good Em- 
peror to fight the enemies of Eome in Asia. He was, as I 
remember him, of a quick and fiery temper, but he was 
always gentle toward me, and has bound me to him for- 
ever. 

‘‘ The gods prosper you!"" cried Fausta, ‘‘ as surely they 
will. It IS a pious work to which you put your hand, and 
you will succeed. "" 

“ Ho not, Fausta,"" said Gracchus, ‘‘ lend the weight of 
your voice to urge qur friend to measures which may be 
rather rash than wise, and may end only in causing a 
greater evil than what already exists. Prudence must 
govern us as well as affection. By venturing yourself at 
once into the dominion of Persia, upon such an errand, it 
is scarcely less than certain that you would perish, and 
without effecting your object. We ought to consider, too, 
I think, what the condition and treatment of Calj^urnius 
are, before too great a risk is incurred for his rescue. He 
has now, we are to remember, been at the capital of the 
Great King thirteen years. You have hinted that he had 
been kindly regarded by the son of Sapor. Possibly his 
captivity amounts to no more than a foreign residence — a 
sort of exile. Possibly he may, in this long series of years, 
have become changed into a Persian. I understand your 
little lip, Fausta, and your indignant frown, Lucius; but 
what I suggest is among things possible, it can not be de- 
nied; anff can you deny it? — not so very unlikely, when 
you think what the feelings of one must have been to be so 
wholly forgotten and abandoned by his native country, and 
that country, Rome, the mistress of the world, who needed 
but to have stretched forth the half of her power to have 
broken forever the chains of his slavery, as well as of the 
thousands who with him have been left to linger out their 
lives in bondage. If Calpurnius has been distinguished by 
the son of Sapor, his lot, doubtless, has been greatly light- 
ened, and he may now be living as a Persian prince. My 
counsel 'is, therefore, that the truth in this regard be first 
obtained, before the life of another son, and the only in- 
heritor of so great a name, be put in jeopardy. But what 
is the exact sum of what you have learned, and upon 
wliich we may rely, and from which reason and act?"" 


36 


ZEKOBIA. 


Our knowledge/" I replied, is derived from a soldier, 
who, by a great and happy fortune, escaped and reached 
his native Rome. He only knew what he saw when he 
was first a captive, and afterward, by chance, had heard 
from others. He was, he said, taken to serve as a slave 
about the palace of the King, and it was there that for a 
space he was an eye-witness to the cruel and insulting 
usage of both Valerian and Calpurnius. That was but too 
true, he said, which had been reported to us, that when- 
ever the proud Sapor went forth to mount his horse, the 
Empe^’or was brought, in the face of the whole court, and 
of the populace who crowded round, to serve as his foot- 
stool. Clothed in the imperial purple, the unfortunate 
Valerian received upon his neck the foot of Sapor, and 
bore him to his saddle. It was the same purpose that Cal- 
purnius was made to serve for the young prince Hormis- 
das. But, said the soldier, the prince pitied the young 
and noble Ronmn, and would gladly, at the beginning, 
have spared him the indignity put upon him by the stern 
command of his haughty and cruel father. He often 
found occasion at these times, while standing with his foot 
upon his neck, to speak with Calpurnius, and to express 
his regrets and his grief for his misfortunes, and promise 
redress, and more, if he ever came to the throne. But the 
soldier was soon removed from the vicinity of the Royal 
palace, and saw no more of either Valerian or Calpurnius. 
What came to his ears was, generally, that while Valerian 
was retained exclusively for the use of Sapor, Calpurnius 
was after a time relinquished as entirely into thh hands of 
Hormisdas, in whose own palace he dwelt, but with what 
portion of freedom, he knew not. That he was living at 
the time he escaped, he was certain. This, Gracchus, is 
the sum of what we have heard; in addition only, that the 
Emperor sunk under his misfortunes, and that his skin, 
fashioned over some substance so as exactly to resemble the 
living man, is preserved by Sapor, as a monument of his 
triumph over the legions of Rome. "" 

‘‘ It is a pitiful story,"" said Fausta, as I ended: “ for a 
brave man it has been a fate worse than death; but having 
survived the first shame, I fear me my father "s thought 
will prove a too true one, and that long absence and indig- 
nation at neglect, and perhaps' gratitude and attachment 
to the prince, who seems to have protected him, will have 


ZEKOBIA. 


37 


weaned him from Rome. So that we can not suffer you, 
-Lucius, to undertake so long and dangerous a journey 
npon so doubtful an errand. But those can be found, 
bold and faithful, who for that ample reward with which 
could so easily enrich them, would venture even into 
the heart of Ecbatana itself, and bring you back your 
brother alive, or advertise you of his apostasy or death. 

What Eausta says is just,^" observed Gracchus, and 
in few words prescribes your course. It will not be a diffi- 
cult thing, out of the multitudes of bold spirits who crowd 
the capital, Greek, Roman, Syrian, and Arab, to find one 
who will do all that you could do, and I may add, both 
naore and better. You may find those who are familiar 
with the route, who know the customs of Persia, who can 
speak its language, and are even at home in her capitals, 
and who would be infinitely more capable than either you 
or I, or even Fausta, to manage -to a happy issue an enter- 
prise like this. Let this then be our decision; and be it 
now , our united care to find the individual to whom we may 
comrnit this dear but perilous service. And novf enough 
of this. The city sleeps, and it were better that we slept 
with it. But first, my child, bring harmony into our 
spirits by one of those wild, sad airs which you are accus- 
tomed to sing to me upon the harp of the Jews. It will 
dispose Lucius to pleasant dreams. 

I added my importunities, and Fausta rising, moved to 
an open window, through which the moon was now pour- 
ing a flood of silver light, and seating herself before the 
instrument which stood there, first swept its strings with 
an easy and graceful hand. 

“ I wish,^"’ said she, I could give you the song which I 
am going to sing in the language of the Hebrews, for it 
agrees better, I think, with the sentiment and the char- 
acter of the music, than the softer accents of the Greek. 
But everything is Greek now. 

So saying, she commenced with a prelude more sweetly 
and profoundly melancholy than even the wailing of the 
night-wind among the leafless trees of the forest. This 
was followed by — an ode shall I call it.^— or a hymn? — for 
it was not what we mean by a song. Nor was the music 
like any other music I had ever heard, but much more full 
of passion; broken, wild, plaintive, triumphant by turns, 
it stirred all the deepest feelings of the heart. It seemed 


38 


ZENOBIA. 


to be the language of one in captivity, who, refusing to 
sing one of the songs of his country for the gratification of 
his conquerors, broke out into passionate strains of patriot- 
ism, in which he exalted liis desolated home to the heav- 
ens, and prophesied in the boldest terms her ultimate res- 
toration to power and glory. The sentiment lost nothing 
coming to the ear clothed in the rich music of Fausta^s 
voice, which rose and sunk, swelled and died away, or was 
full of tear or joy, as agreed with the theme of the poet. 
She was herself the poet, and the captive, and the Jew, so 
wliolly did she abandon herself to the sway of the thoughts 
which she was expressing. One idea alone, however, had 
possessed me while she sung — to which, the moment she 
paused,^ I first gave utterance. “ And think you, Fausta,^^ 
said I, that while the captive Jew remembers his coun- 
try, the captive Roman will forget his? Xever! Calpur- 
nius, if he lives, lives a Roman. For this I thank your 
song. Melancholy and sad in itself, it has bred joy in my 
soul. I shall now sleep well. So saying, we separated. 

Thus was passed my first evening in Palmyra. 


LETTER III. 

M ITH what pleasure do I again sit down, dear Curtius 
ami Lucilia, to tell you how I have passed my time, and 
what I have been able to accomplish, since I last wrote* 
1 ^^PPy I have to report of success rather than of 
defeat m that matter which I have undertaken. But first 
let me thank you for all the city gossip, with which you so 
greatly entertained me in your joint eifistle. Although I 
pass my hours and days in ths beautiful capital as happily 
as I could anywhere out of Rome, still my letters from 
home are a great addition to my enjoyment. After risiim 
from the perusal of yours and my mother^ I was a new 
man. Let me beg you— which indeed I need hardly do— 
to send each letter of mine, as you receive it, to Portia 
and 111 return receive and read those which I have written 
and shall continue to write' to her. To you I shall ^ive a 
narrative of events; to her, I shall pour out sentiment and 
philosophy, as in our conversation we are wont to do. I 
shall hope soon to have somewhat of interest to say of the 
state of letters here, and of my interviews with distinguished 


ZEJ;[OBIA. 


39 


men. So soon as the Queen shall return from her excur- 
sion through some of her distant provinces, I shall call 
upon Gracchus to fulfill his promise, and make me known 
to the great Longinus, now with the Queen absent. From 
my intercourse with him I shall look to draw up long and 
full reports of much that shall afford both entertainment 
and instruction to you all. 

I have now passed several days in Palmyra, and have a 
mass of things to say. But instead of giving you a con- 
fused report, I shall separate one thing from another, and 
set dowm each according to the time and manner in which 
it happened. This is what I know you desire, and this is 
wLat I shall do. 

I can not easily tell you how delicious was my slumber 
after that last day of fatiguing travel, and that evening of 
to me the most exciting converse. I dreamed that night 
of Oalpurnius rescued and returned; and ever as he was 
present to my sleeping fancy, the music of Fausta^s harp 
and voice was floating near. 

Hannibal was early at my door to warn me of the hour 
of the morning meal, Milo being still under the influences 
of the evening's potation. I was shown to a different 
apartment from that in which we had supped, but opening 
into it. It was a portico rather than a room, being on two 
sides open to the shrubbeiy, with slender Ionic pillars of 
marble supporting the ceiling, all joined together by the 
light interlacings of the most gorgeous creeping plants. 
Their odors filled the air. A fountain threw up in the 
most graceful forms its clear water, and spread all around 
an agreeable coolness. Standing at those points where 
flights of steps led down to the walks and plats of grass 
and flowers, which wound about the palace, the eye wan- 
dered over the rich scene of verdure and blossom which 
they presented, and then rested where it can never rest too 
often or too long, upon the glittering shafts of the Temple 
of the Sun. This morning prospect, from this single 
point, I thought was reward enough for my long voyage 
and hot journey over the desert. It inspired more cheer- 
ful thoughts than the same scene as I had seen it the even- 
ing before from the windows of my chamber. I could not 
but draw omens of good from the universal smile that 
beamed upon me from the earth and the heavens. Fausta's 


40 


ZENOBIA. 


little hand suddenly placed within mine, and the cheerful 
greeting of her voice, awoke me from my dreamy state. 

‘‘ Your countenance shows that you have slept well, 
Lucius,"" said she; ‘'it is bright as the morning itself. 
Your dreams must have been favorable. Or else is it the 
wonder - working power of a Palmyrene air that has 
wrought so with you since the last evening.^ Tell me, 
have you not slept as you never slept in Rome?"" 

“ I have slept well, indeed,"" I replied, “ but I believe it 
was owing rather to your harp and Jewish ode, than to any 
mysterious qualities of the air. Your music haunted the 
•chambers of my brain all night, and peopled them with 
the forms of those whom I love, and whose memoiy it last 
evening recalled so vividly. Mostly I dreamed of Calpur- 
nius, and of his return to Rome, and with him came ever 
your image dimly seen hovering round, and the strains of 
your voice and harp. These are to me auguries of good, 
even as if the voice of a god had spoken. I shall once 
more embrace a brother— and what is even more, a 
Roman."" 

“The ^ods grant it may be so!"" readied Fausta: “ A 
prayer which I repeat,"*" cried Gracchus, as he approached 
us from the hall, through which I had just passed. “ I 
have thought much of your affair since I parted from you 
last evening, and am more than ever persuaded that we 
came to a true decision touching the steps best to be taken. 
To-day I shall be much abroad, and shall not forget to 
search in every direction for one who maybe intrusted with 
this nice, and difficult, and withal dangerous business. I 
can now think of no messenger who bids so fair to combine 
all the qualities we most desire, as the Jew. I know but 
few of that tribe, and those are among the rich. But then 

those rich are connected in various ways with the poor 

for to a marvelous extent they are one people — ^it is the 
same you know in Rome— and through them I think I mav 
succeed. "" 

“ Now have you,” I quickly added, “ again poured light 
into my mind. Half our labor is over. I know a Jew 
whose capacities could not be more fitting for this enter- 
prise. I saw much of him on board the vessel which took 
us first to the African coast, where, at Utica, it set him on 
shore, bringing me further on to Berytus. He is a true 
citizen of the world — knows all languages, and all people. 


ZENOBIA. 


41 


and all places. He has all the shrewdness of his race — 
their intelligence, their enthusiasm, and, I may add, their 
courage. He is a traveler by profession, and a vender of 
such things as any will buy, and will go wherever he may 
hope to make large gains wherewith to do his share toward 
“ building again the walls of Jerusalem,'’^ as he calls it. 
He has a home in every city of the East. It was toward 
Palmyra that he was bending his way; and, as I now re - 
member, promised that he would see me here not many 
days after I should arrive, and have the pleasure, as he 
trusted, to sell me more of his goods; for you must be told 
that I did indeed traffic with him, however little it became 
a patrician of Rome. And here I have about me, in a lit- 
tle casket, some rings which I purchased of him, having 
upon them heads of Zenobia and Odenatus, resembling the 
originals to the life, as he assured me with much assevera- 
tion, See, Eausta, here they are. Look now, and tell me 
if he has spoken in this instance the truth; if so, it will be 
a ground for trusting him further.'’^ 

‘‘ Beautiful exclaimed both Gracchus and Eausta. 
“ He has indeed dealt honestly with you. Nothing can be 
more exact than these resemblances, and the workmanship 
is worthy the hand of Demetrius the Greek. 

Provincials,'’^ said I, ‘‘ ever know the capital and its 
fashions better than citizens. Now never till Isaac, my 
Jew friend, rehearsed to me the praises of Demetrius the 
jeweler, had I ever heard his name, or aught concerning 
his skill, and here in the heart of Asia he seems a household 
word.^^ 

‘‘It is so, indeed,” said Gracchus. “I do not doubt 
that the fashionable artists of every kind in Rome are bet- 
ter known to the followers of fashion in Palmyra than they 
are to the patricians themselves. Wanting the real great- 
ness of Rome, we try to surpass her in the trappings of 
greatness. We are well represented by the frog of ^sop; 
happy, if our swelling pride do not destroy us. But these 
rings — they are indeed of exquisite art. The head of 
Odenatus is truer to life, methinks, than that of the 

Queen. . 

“ And how can poor stone and gold set out the divine 
beauty and grace of Zenobia cried Eausta. Phis is 
beautiful to you now, Lucius, but it will be so no longer 
when you shall have seen her. AVould that she were here. 


42 


ZEKOBIA. 


It seems as if the sun were gone from the heavens, when 
she is absent from us on these long excursions among her 
distant subjects. 

Till then, dear Fausta,^^ said I, deign to wear on 
that only finger which I see ungraced by a ring, this head 
of your so much vaunted Queen; afterward wear it, if vou 
will, not for her sake, but mine."" 

So saying, upon her finger which she held out to me — 
and which how beautiful it was I shall not say— I attempt- 
ed to pass the ring, but alas! it was too small, and would 
not, vuth all the gentle force I dared to use, go on. 

Here is an omen, Fausta,"" said I; “the Queen can 
threatened^^"^ your hand. I fear your friendship is 


entertain any such apprehension,"" inter- 
rupted Fausta. It is quite needless. Here is plenty of 
room on this neighbor finger. It is quite right that Aure- 
han, you know, should give way to Zenobia: so, away with 
t le Fmperor. and she snaiiped the ring across the pave- 
ment of the portico— and now, Lucius, invest me with 
that burning beauty. " " 

‘‘And now do you think you deserve it? I marvel, 
Lmccluis, at the boldness of these little girls. Verily they 
bid fair to mount up over our heads. But come, your 
finger: tliere one can not but say it becomes you better 
than the fierce Aurehan. As for the deposed Emperor, he 
IS henceforwaiii mine. Thus I reinstate him.” In sav- 
ing which, I pursued and picked up the discarded ring, 
and ga\ e to it the most honored place ujion my right hand. 

Fausta now, laughingly bidding me welcome to the ring' 
called us to the table, where the breakfast, consisting of 
■ proportion than with us, awaited us. 

Much talk now ensued concenimg the city, its growth and 
numbers, power and probable destiny. I ,vas satisfied 

'f T 1 **^‘'‘*^ ambitious designs 

ate enteitemed by both the court and people, and that their 
wonderful successes have bred in them a real belief that 
they should have nothing to fear from the valor or power 
of Rome, under any circumstances of collision. When this 
was through, Gracchus, rising from his seat and pacing 
slowly up and down the portico, spoke of nij p“vatl 
affairs, and with great kindness went over again tle^whole 
ground. The result was the same. 


ZENOBIA. 


43 


Our way, then,^^ he said, ‘‘ is clear. Wait a few days 
for your fellow-traveler, Isaac. If he appears, w^ell — if 
not, we must then search the quarter of the Jews for one 
who may do as good service perhaps. I now leave you, 
with a suggestion to Fausta that she should take it upon 
her to drive you round the city, and into the suburbs. No 
one can perform the office of a guide better than she.^^ 

“ If Fausta will take that trouble upon her,^^ I replied, 
‘‘ it will give me — 

‘‘ A great deal of pleasure, you were going to say; so it 
will me. I am sure we shall enjoy it. If I love anything, 
it is to reveal to a proud Roman the glories of Palmyra. 
Take away from a Roman that ineffable air which says 
“ Behold embodied in me the majesty of Rome!'’^ and 
there remains a very agreeable person. But for those 
qualities of mind and manners which fit men and women 
for society, the Roman men and women must yield to the 
Palmyrenes. So I think, who have seen somewhat of both 
— and so think— gainsay my authorities if you have the 
courage — Longinus and the Bishop of Antioch. I see that 
j^ou are disturbed. No wonder. Longinus, though a 
philosopher, is a man of the world, who sees through its 
ways as clearly as he does through the mysticism of Plato, 
and that asks for good eyes; and for the bishop — there is 
not so finished a gentleman in all the East. His appoint- 
ments are not less exquisite than those of the highest noble 
either of Antioch or Palmyra. If an umpire in any ques- 
tion of manners were to be chosen, it would be he.'^^ 

‘‘ As for the Greek,'" I rejoined, “ I am predisposed to 
admit his superior claims. I will surrender to him with 
alacrity my doubts both in manners and philosophy. I or 
I hold there is a philosophy in manners, na}^ even in 
clothes, and that the highest bred intellect will on thatve^" 
account best perceive the nice distinctions and relations, in 
the exact perception and observance of which the highest 
manners consist. Such an one may offend against the last 
device in costume — and the last refinement in the recondite 
art of a bow— but he will eternally excel in all that we 
mean by breeding. Your bishop I know nothing of, but 
your account of him strikes me not very agreeably. These 
Christian bishops, methinks, are taking upon themselves 
too much. And besides, if what I gathered of the theory 
of their religion from a passenger on board the Mediter- 


44 


ZEl^OBIA. 


raneaii trader, be correct, they depart greatly from the 
severity of their principles, when they so addict themselves 
to the practices of courts and of the rich. I received from 
this Christian a beautiful idea of his faith, and only lament- 
ed that our companionship was broken off before I had had 
time fully to comprehend all he had to say. The char- 
acter of this man, and his very countenance, seemed as 
arguments to support the strict opinions which he ad- 
vanced. This bishop, I think, can scarcely do his faith the 
same service."’^ 

know him not much,''^ said Fausta, ‘‘and of his 
faith, nothing. He has great power over the Princess 
Julia, and it would not much amaze me if, by and by 
she declared herself a Christian. It is incredible how that 
superstition spreads. But here is our carriage. Come let 
us forth. ^ 

So, breaking off our talk, we betook ourselves to the car- 
riage. How shall I find language, my Curtius, to set be- 
fore you with the vividness of the reality, or with any ap- 
proach to it, the lectures which this drive through and 
around Palmyra caused to pass successively before me^" 
You know indeed, generally, what the city is, from the re- 
ports of former travelers, especially from the late book of 
Spurius, about which and its speculations much was said a 
little while since. But let me tell you, a more one-sided 
one-eyed, malignant observer never thrust himself upoii 
the hospitalities of a free, open-hearted people, than that 
s^ie Spurius, poet and bibliopole. His very name is an 
offense to the Palmyrenes, who, whatever national faults 
they may have, do not deserve the deep disgrace of beino- 
brought before the world in the pages of so poor a thing as 
tile said Ventidius Spurius. Though it will not be my 
province to treat as an author of the condition, policy, and 
prospects of Palmyra, yet to you and my friends I shall lay 
myself open with the utmost freedom, and shall refrain 
from no statement or opinion that shall possess, or seem 
to do so, truth or importance. 

The horses springing from under the whip of the char- 

loteer, soon bore us from the great entrance of the palace 

into the midst of the throng that crowded the streets. 
Ine streets, seen now under the advantages of a warm 
niornmg sun adding a beauty of its own to whatever it 
glanced upon, showed much more brilliantly than ours of 


ZENOBIA. 


45 


Rome. There is, in the first place, a more general 
sumptuousness in equipage and dress, very striking to the 
eye of a Roman. Not perhaps that more wealth is dis- 
played, but the forms and the colors, through which it dis- 
plays itself, are more various, more tasteful, more gorgeous. 
Nothing can exceed, nothing equals, it is said, anywhere in 
the world, the state of the Queen and her court; and this 
infects, if I may use so harsh a word, the whole city. So 
that, though with far less of real substantial riches than we 
have, their extravagance and luxury are equal, and their 
taste far before us. Then everytliing wears a newer, 
fresher look than in Rome. The buildings of the republic, 
which many are so desirous to preserve, and whole streets 
even of ante-Augustan architecture, tend to spread around 
here and there in Rome a gloom — to me full of beauty and 
poetry— but still gloom. Here all is bright and gay. The 
buildings of marble— the streets paved and clean— frequent 
fountains of water throwing up their foaming jets, and 
shedding around a delicious coolness — temples, and palaces 
of the nobles, or of wealthy Palmyrene merchants— alto- ^ 
gether present a more brilliant assemblage of objects than - 
I suppose any other city can boast. Then conceive, poured 
through these long lines of beautiful edifices, among these 
temples and fountains, a population drawn from every 
country of the far East, arrayed in every variety of the 
most showy and fanciful costume, with the singular ani- 
mals, rarely seen in our streets, but here met at every turn 
— elephants, camels, and dromedaries, to say nothing of 
the Arabian horses, with their jeweled housings, with every 
now and then a troop of the Queen^s cavalry, moving 
along, to the sound of their clanging trumpets- conceive, I 
say, this ceaseless tide of various animal life poured along 
amoni?* the proud piles, and choking the ways, and you 
will have some faint glimpse of the strange and imposing 

reahty. i ^ 

Fausta was in raptures at my transports, and m her 
pleasant but deep-meaning way, boasted much over the 
great capital of the world. So we rode along, slowly, be- 
cause of the crowded state of the streets, and on account of 
my desire to observe the manners and ways of the people 
—their shops, which glittered with every rare work of art 

and the devices, so similar in all places of trade, by 

which the seller attracts the buyer. I was engrossed by 


46 


ZENOBTA. 


objects of tliis sort^ when Fausta^s voice drew my attention 
another way. 

Now/" said she, prepare yourself for the glory of 
Palmyra; look when we ^all suddenly turn round the 
next corner, on the left, and see what you shall see."" 

The chariot soon whirled round the indicated corner, 
and we found ourselves in full view of the Temple of the 
hun, so famous throughout the world. tJpon a vast plat- 
form of marble, itself decorated with endless lines of col- 
umns— elsewhere of beauty and size sufficient for the prin- 
cipal buildings, but here a mere appendage — stood in 
solitary magnificence this peerless work of art. All I 
could do was, and the act was involuntary, to call upon the 
charioteer to rein up his horses and let me quietly gaze. 
In this Fausta, nothing unwilling, indulged me. Then 
when satisfied with this, the first point of view, we wound 
slowly round the spacious square upon which it stands, ob- 
directions, and taking my fill of that 
exalted but nameless pleasure which flows in upon the soul 
from the contemplation of perfect excellence. 

This IS, if I err not, Fausta, the work of a Greek 
artist. 

‘ It is,” said she: “ here both Romans and Palmyrenes 
must acknowledge their inferiority, and indeed all other 
people. In every city of the world, I believe, all the great 
vyorks of art are the offspring of Grecian genius and Gre- 
cian t^te. Truly, a wonderful people! In this very city 
our artis s-our men of letters-even the first ministers ot 

Long Portico, an edifice which will astonish you yet more 
than even the Temple of the Sun, through^youf haXg 

a RoLa/m1le““°^^ 

‘‘“d «« Portico stood re- 
Ind tbe"h V “iterm'nable ranges of Corinthian columns, 
fnf+v^ • ’’"^y.^oPitudes Winding among them, and pursu- 
ing their various avocations, for which this building offers 
a common and convenient ground. Here the merchaiite 
as^mble and meet each other. Here various Tticles o1 
more than common rarity are brought and exhibited for 
sale. Here the mountebanks resort, and entertain the idle 
and lovers of amusement with their fantastic tricks And 
here strangers from all parts of the world may be feeii 


ZENOBIA. 


47 


walking to and fro, observing the customs of tlie place, and 
regaling themselves at the brilliant rooms, furnished with 
every luxury, which are opened for their use, or else at 
the public baths which are found in the immediate neigh- 
borhood. The Portico does not, like the Temple, stand 
upon an elevated platform, but more upon a level with the 
streets. Its greatness is derived from its extreme length, 
and its exquisitely perfect designs and workmanship, as 
seen in the graceful fluted columns and the rich entablature 
running round the whole. The life and achievements of 
Alexander are sculptured upon the frieze; the artist — a 
Greek also — ^having heen allowed to choose his own theme. 

Fausta,"" said I, ‘‘ my soul is steeped in beauty. It 
will be to no purpose to show me more now. I am like 
one who has eaten too much — forgive the figure — delica- 
cies are lost upon him.-’ ^ 

I can not release you yet,^^ cried Fausta: ‘‘ a little fur- 
ther on, and you may see the palace of our great Queen; 
give me your patience to that point, and I will then re- 
lieve you by a little excursion through the suburbs, where 
your eye may repose upon a rural beauty as satisfying as 
this of the city. You must see the palace. There! we are 
already in sight of it. 

It rose upon us, so vast is it, and of so many parts, like 
a city within a city. A fit dwelling for so great, so good, 
and so beautiful a woman. Of this you will find a careful 
and true account, with drawings, which greatly help the 
imagination, in the otherwise vile book of the traducer 
Spurius. To that I refer you, and so refrain from all de- 
scription. 

We now left the city, and wound at our leisure among 
the shady avenues, the noble country retreats, the public 
gardens, the groves and woods which encompass the walls, 
and stretch away far beyond the sight, into the interior. 
Eeturning, we passed through the arches of the vast aque- 
duct which pours into the city a river of the purest water. 
This is the most striking object, and noblest work of art, 
without the walls. 

When we had passed in this way nearly the whole day, 
we at length re-entered the city by the Persian Gate, on 
the eastern side. 

‘‘ Now, Fausta,'' said I, having given so much of the 
day to pleasure, I must give the rest, not to pain, but to 


48 


ZENOBIA. 


duty. I will seek out and find, if I can, Demetrius, brother 
to Demetrius of Rome. From him I can learn, it seems 
probable, concerning, the movements of Isaac. 

‘‘You will find the shop of Demetrius in the very heart 
of the city, midway between the Persian and Roman gates. 
Farewell, for a time, and may the gods prosper you!^'’ 

I was not long in making my way to the shop of the 
Greek. I found the skillful Demetrius busily engaged in 
putting the last polish upon a small silver statue of a fiying 
Mercury. He looked up as I entered, and saluting me in 
Greek, invited me to look at his works. I could not for a 
long time take off my eyes from the figure upon which he 
was working, and expressed my admiration. 

“ Ah, it is very well, I think,"" said he, “ but it is noth- 
ing compared with the work of my brother at Rome. You 
know him doubtless?"" 

“ Indeed I do not, I am obliged to say. "" 

“ What! a Roman, as I perceive, and a patrician also, 
and not know Demetrius the goldsmith? he who was the 
favorite of Valerian, and Gallienus, and Claudius, and now 
of Aurelian? There is no hand like that of Demetrius the 
elder. These, sir, are mere scratches, to his divine touch. 
These are dolls, compared with the living and breathing 
gold as it leaves his chisel. Sir, it is saying nothing be- 
yond belief, when I say, that many a statue like this, of 
his, is worth more than many a living form that we see in 
and out of the shop. Forgive me, but I must say I would 
rather possess one of his images of Venus or Apollo, than 
a live Roman — though he be a patrician too."" 

“You are complimentary,"" I said: “ but I can believe 
yon. When I return to Rome, I shall seek out your 
brother, and make myself acquainted with his genius. I 
have heretofore heard of him chiefiy through a traveling 
Jew, whom I fell in with on the way hither— Isaac, as he 
IS called."" 

<< Isaac of Rome. I know him well,"" he replied. 

He IS a good man— that is, he is good for one of thal 
tribe. I look for him every day. A letter from Rome in- 
lorms me that he is on his way. It is a pleasant thing to 
see Isaac. I wonder what curiosities he brings from the 
hand of my brother. He will be welcome. I trust he 
brings some heads of our late king and present queen, from 


ZENOBIA. 


49 


drawings which I made and transmitted. I am impatient 
to see them. Saw you anything of this sort about him?^^ 
Truly I did, and if by some ill chance I have not left 
them behind me, in my preparations for a morning excur- 
sion, I can show you what you will like to see. Ah! here 
it is: in this small casket I have, I presume, unless Isaac 
shall have deceived me — but of which you will be a perfect 
judge — some of yoiu’ brother's art. Look, here are rings 
with heads of your king and queen, such as you have just 
spoken of. Are they genuine?" 

No instrument but that which is guided by the hand 
of the elder Demetrius ever did this work," said he, slowly 
drawing out his words, as he closely scrutinized the ring. 
“ The gold embossment might indeed have been done by 
another, but not these heads, so true to the life, and of 
an art so far beyond any ability of mine, that I am 
tempted sometimes to think that he is in league with Vul- 
can. Gods! how that mouth of the Queen speaks! Do we 
not hear it? Ah, Roman, give me the skill of Demetrius 
the elder, and I would spit upon all the power of Aurelian. " 

You Greeks are a singular people. I believe that the 
idea of beauty is to you food and clothing, and shelter and 
drink, more than all riches and all power: dying on a des- 
ert island, a fragment of Phidias would be dearer to you 
than a cargo of food. " 

‘‘ That's a pretty conceit enough," said he, ‘‘ and some- 
thing near the truth, as must be confessed. " 

As we were thus idly discoursing, we became suddenly 
conscious of an unusual commotion in the street. The 
populace began to move quickly by in crowds, and vehicles 
of all sorts came pouring along as if in expectation of 
something they were eager to see. 

‘‘ What's all this? what's all this?" said Demetrius, 
leaving his work, which he had resumed, and running to 
the door of his shop; what's the matter, friend?" ad- 
dressing a citizen hurrying by: Is Aurelian at the gates, 
that you are posting along in such confusion?" 

‘‘Not Aurelian," replied the other, “but Aurelian 's 
mistress. The Queen is coming. Clouds of dust on the 
skirts of the plain show that she is advancing toward the 
city. " 

“ Now, Roman, if thou wouldst see a sight, be advised 
and follow me. We will mount the roof of yonder market. 


50 


ZEiq’OBIA. 


whence we shall win a prospect such as no eye can havf 
seen that has not gazed from the same point. It is wh^' 
I go to refresh my dulled senses, after the day^s hard toil. 

So saying, and pausing a moment only to give some n€®0Si«* 
sary directions to the pupils, who were stationed at their tasfcii 
throughout the long apartment, telling them to wait fot 
the show till it should pass by the shop, and not think to 
imitate their master in all his ways — saying these things in 
a half earnest and half p>layful manner — we crossed the 
street, and soon reached the level roof, well protected by a 
marble breastwork, of the building he had pointed out. 

“We are here just at the right moment, said he: 
“ come quickly to this corner and secure a seat, for you i 
see the people are already thronging after us. There! i 
Can Elysium offer a more perfect scene? And look, how 
insj)iring is the view of these two multitudes moving 
toward each other, in the spirit of friendship! How the 
city opens her arms to embrace her Queen 

At the distance of about a mile from the walls, we now ! 
saw the party of the Queen, escorted by a large body of 
horse: and, approaching them from the city, apparently 
its whole population, some on foot, some on horse, some 
in carriages of every description. The plain was filled with 
life. The sun shooting his beams over the whole, and ! 
reflected from the spears and corslets of the cavalry, and 
the gilding and polished work of chariots and harness, 
caused the scene to sparkle as if strewed with diamonds. 

It was a fair sight. But fairer than all was it to witness, 
as I did, the hearty enthusiasm of the peojfie, and even of 
the children toward their lovely Queen. Tears of joy even 
I could see falling from many eyes, that she was returning 
to them again. As soon as the near approach of Zenobia 
to the walls began to conceal her and her escort, then we 
again changed our position, and returned to the’ steps of 
the shop of Demetrius as the Queen would pass directly 
by them, on her way to the palace. 

We had been here not many minutes, before the shouts 
of the people, and the braying of martial music, and the 
confused sound of an ai)proaching multitude, showed that 
the Queen was near. Troops of horse, variously capari- 
soned, each more brilliantly as it seemed than another, 
preceded a tram of sumptuary elephants and camels, these, 
too, richly dressed, but heavily loaded. Then came the ^ 

i 

1 


ZENOBIA. 


51 

body-guard of the Queen^ in armor of complete steel — and 
, then the chariot of Zenobia^ drawn by milk-white Arabi- 
j ans. So soon as she appeared, the air resounded with the 
■ acclamations of the countless multitudes. Every cry of 
I loyalty and affection was heaid from ten thousand mouths, 
i making a music such as filled the heart almost to breaking.^ 

I Long live the great Zenobial"^ went up to the heav- 
I ens. “ The blessing of all the gods on our good Queen I 
‘‘Health and happiness to the mother of her people 
“ Death and destruction to her enemies!'-’ these, and cries 
the same kind, came from the people, not as a mere 
lip-service, but evidently, from the tone in which they were 
uttered, prompted by real sentiments of love, such as it 
seems to me never before . can have existed toward a su- 
preme and absolute prince. 

It was to me a moment inexpressibly interesting. I 
could not have asked for more, than for the first time to 
1 see this great woman just as I now saw her. I can not, at 
: tliis time, even speak of her beauty, and the imposing yet 
I sweet dignity of her manner; for it was with me, as I sup- 
pose it was with all — the diviner beauty of the emotions 
and sentiments which were working at her heart and shone 
^ out in the expressive language of her countenance, took 
away all power of narrowly scanning complexion, feature 
( and form. Her look was full of love for her people. She 
i regarded them as if they were her children. She bent 
. herself fondly toward them, as if nothing but the restraints 
: of form withheld her from throwing herself into their 
j arms. This was the beauty which filled and agitated me. 

I was more than satisfied. 

“And who," said I to Demetrius, “is that beautiful 
being, but of a sad and thoughtful countenance, who sits 
at the side of the Queen?" 

“ That," he replied, “ is the Princess Julia; a true de- 
scendant of her great mother; and the gods grant that 
she, rather than either of her brothers, may succeed to the 
sovereign power. " 

“ She looks indeed, "said I, “worthy to reign — over 
hearts at least, if not over nations. Those in the next 
chariot, are, I suppose, the young Caesars, as I hear they 
are called — about as promising to judge by the form and 
face, as some of our Roman brood of the same name. I 
need not ask whose head that is in the carriage next sue- 


52 


ZEJ^-OBIA. 


ceeding; it can belong to no other in Palmyra than th| 
great Longinus. hat a divine repose breathes over thai 
noble countenance! What a clear and far-sighted spirit 
looks out of those eyes! But— gods of Borne and of th* 
world! who sits beside him? Whose dark soul is lodged 
that fearful tenement? fearful and yet beautiful, as woul^ 
be a statue of ebony 

Know you not him? Know you not the Egyptiaga 
Zabdas? the mirror of accomplished knighthood— the piL 
lar of the state — the Aurelian of the East? Ah! far may 
you go to find two such men as those— of gifts so diverse, 
and power so great— sitting together like brothers. It all 
shows the greater power of Zenobia, who can tame the 
roughest, and most ambitious spirits to her uses. Who is 
like Zenobia?"" 


So ends, it seems to me,"" I replied, every sentence 
of every Palmyrene, ‘ Who is like Zenobia?" "" 

‘MVell, Eoman,"" said he, ‘'it is a good ending; may 
there never be a worse. Happy were it for mankind, if 
kings and queens were all like her. She rules to make 
others hapi^y— not to rule. She conceives heiself to be 
an instrument of government, not its end. Many is the 
time, that, standing in her private closet, with my cases of 
rare jewels, or with some pretty fancy of mine in the way 
of statue or vase, I have heard the wisdom of Aristotle 
droi^ping in the honey of Plato"s Greek from her divine 
lips."" 

“You are all going mad with love,"" said I; “ I bedn 
to tremble for myself as a Eoman. I must depart while I 
am yet safe. But see! the crowd and the show are van- 
ished. Let me hear of the earliest return of Isaac, and 
the gods prosper you! I am at the house of Gracchus, op- 
posite the Temple of Justice."" ^ 

I found, on reaching the palace, Fausta and Gracchus, 
overjoyed at the safe and happy return of the Queen’ 
hausta, too, as the Queen was passing by, she standing by 
one of the pillars of the great entrance, had obtained a 
smile of recognition, and a wave of the hand from her 
great friend, as I may justly term her, and nothing could 
exceed the spirits she was in. ° 

“How glad I am, Lucius,” said she, “that you have 
seen her so soon, and more than all, that you saw her just 
as you did, in the very heart of the people. I do not be- 


ZEN^OBIA. 


53 


lieve you ever saw Aiirelian so received in Eome — Claudius 
perhaps — but not again Gallienus, or his severe but weak 
father. But what have you done — which is to all of us a 
more immediately interesting subject — what have you 
done for Calpurnius? Do you learn anything of Isaac?"" 

‘‘I have the best news/" I replied, ''possible in the 
case. Isaac will be in Palmyra — perhaps this very night; 
but certainly within a few days, if the gods spare his life. 
Demetrius is to give me the earliest intelligence of his 
arrival."" 


1 1 " 'Now then let us,"" said Fausta, " to the table, which 

need not offer the delicacies of Vitellius to insure a favor- 
, lable reception from appetites sharpened as ours have been 
I by the day"s motion and excitement. "" 

Gracchus, throwing down a manuscript he had been at- 
< tentively perusing, now joined us. 

;| Leaving untold all the good things which were said, es- 
;pecially by Gracchus, while I and Fausta, more terrestrially 
I given, applied ourselves to the agreeable task set before 
I us, I hasten to tell you of my interview with the Jew, and 
! of its issue. For no sooner had evening set in, and Fausta 
I seated at her harp, was again soothing the soul with her 
I sweet and wild strains, than a messenger was announced 
. from the Greek Demetrius, desiring to have communica- 
; tion with me. Divining at once his errand, I sought him 
! in the anteroom, where, learning from him that Isaac was 
j arrived, and that if I would see him I must seek him on 
the moment, as he was but for one night in the city, in- 
I tending in the morning to start for Ctesiphon, I bade him 
Head on, and I would follow, first calling Milo to accom- 
ipaii}^ me. 

I "To what part of the city do we go?"" said I, address- 
I ing the messenger of Demetrius. 

j " To the quarter of the Jews, near the Gate of the Des- 
j ert, "" he replied. "Be not apprehensive of danger,"" he 
j added; " the city is as safe by night as by day. This we 
j owe to the great Queen."" 

j " Take me where thou wilt, I fear nothing,"" said I, 

I " But methinks, master mine,"" said Milo, " seeing that 
we know not the ways of this outlandish capital, nor even 
who this doubtless respectable person is who invites us to 
this enterprise, it were more discreet to add Hannibal to 


54 


ZEI^OBIA. 


our numbers. Permit me, and I will invoke tlie presence 
of the Ethiopian. ” 


No, Milo,^^ I replied, in thy valor I am ready to put 
;. Thy courage is tried courage, and if need be, I 


niy trust. ULi^Vl wu-ltlgc, dinu. H UCCU. 

doubt not thou wilt not hesitate to die sword in hand. 

Such sort of confidence I do by no means covet: I 
would rather that thou shouldst place it somewhere else. 
It is true that when I was in the service of the most noble 
Gallienus — 

Well, we will spare thee the trouble of that stor}^ I 
believe I do thy virtues no injustice. Moreover, the less 
talk, the more speed. 

Saying this, in order that I might be left to my own 
thoughts for a space, before I should meet the Jew, we then 
pressed on, threading our way through a maze of streets, 
where recollection of place and of direction was soon and 
altogether lost. The streets now became narrow, filthy, 
darker and darker, crooked and involved. They were 
still noisy with the loud voices of the inhabitants of the 
dwellings, calling to each other, quarreling or laughing, 
with the rattling of vehicles returning home after the 
labors of the day, and with all that variety of deafening 
sounds which fall upon the ear where great numbers of a 
poor and degraded population are crowded together into 
confined quarters. Suddenly leaving what seemed to be a 
sort of principal street, our guide turned down into an 
obscure lane, which, though extremely narrow and crooked 
was better built than the streets we had just left. Stop- 
ping now before what seemed a long and low white wall 
our guide, descending a few steps, brought us to the prin- 
cipal entrance of the d\^elling, for such we found it to be. 
Appljmig a stone to the door, to arouse those who might 
be within, we were immediately answered in a voice which 
1 at once recognized as that of Isaac: 

Break not in the door,"" shouted he, ‘‘ with your un- 
mannerly blows. Who are you, that one must live stand- 
ing with his hand on the latch of the door? Wait, I sav 
till I can have, time to walk the length of the room What 
can the Gentiles of Palmyra want of Isaac of Rome at this 
thTdofr muttering, he unbarred and opened 

Come in, come in: the house of Isaac is but a poor 
house of a poor Jew, but it has a welcome for all. Come 




ZEN^OBIA. 


55 

in come— But, father Abraham! whom have we here? 
The most noble Piso! A patrician of Rome in the hovel 
of a poverty-pinched Jew! That would sound well upon 
the exchange. It may be of account. But what am I 
saying? Welcome to Palmyra, most noble Piso, for 
Palmyra is one of my homes; at Rome, and at Antioch, 
’ and Alexandria, and Ctesiphon, and Carthage— it is the 
, same to Isaac. Pray seat yourselves; upon this chair thou 
wilt find a secure seat, though it promises not so much, 
and here upon my dromedary's furniture is another. So, 
now we are well. Would that I had that fiask of soft 
Palmyrene, which but now I sent — " 

“ Take no trouble for our sakes," I exclaimed, cordially 
saluting him; ‘‘I am Just now come from the table of 
Gracchus. ' I have matters of more moment to discuss 
than either meats or wines. " 

But, noble master, hast thou ever brought to thy lips 
this same soft Palmyrene? The name indicates some 
delicious Juice." 

Peace, Milo, or thou goest home alone, as thou best 
canst." 

‘‘ Roman," began Isaac, ‘‘ I can think only of two rea- 
sons that can have brought thee to my poor abode so soon; 
the one is to furnish thyself with more of that Jewelry 
which gave thee so much delight, and the other to dis- 
course with me concerning the faith of Moses. Much as I 
love a bargain, I hope it is for the last that thou art come; 
for I would fain see thee in a better way than thou art, or 
than thou ouldst be if that smooth Probus should gain 
thy ear. Heed not the wily !N'azarene! I can not deny 
him a good heart, after what I saw of him in Carthage. 
But who is he, to take it upon him to sit in Judgment upon 
the faith of two thousand years? Would that I could once 
see him in the grasj) of Simon Ben Gorah! How would his 
heresy wither and die before the learning of that son of 
God. Roman, heed him not! Let me take thee to Simon, 
that thou mayst once m thy life hear the words of wis- 
dom. " 

l^ot now, not now, good Isaac. Whenever I apostatize 
from the faith of the founders of my nation, and deny the 
gods who for more than a thousand years have stood guard- 
ians over Rome, I will not refuse to weigh whatever the 
Jew has to offer in behalf of his ancient creed. But I 


56 


ZEN'OBIA. 


come to thee now neither to buy of thee, nor to learn truth 
of thee, but to seek aid in a matter that lies near my 
heart. ^ ^ 

‘Mda! thy heathen god Cupid has insnared thee! Well, 
well, the young must be humored, and men must marry. 
It was the counsel of my father, whose beard came lower 
than his girdle, and than whom the son of Sirach had not 
more wisdom, ‘ Meddle not nor make in the loves of 
others. God only knoweth the heart. And how knowest 
thou that, in contriving happiness, thou shalt not engender 
sorrow?^ Howbeit, in many things have I departed from 
the counsel of that venerable man. Alas for it! Had my 
feet taken hold, in all their goings, of his steps, I had not 
now for my only companion my fleet-footed dromedary, and 
for my only wealth this load of gilded toys.^^ 

Neither is it,^^ I rejoined, “ for any love-sickness that 
I am come, seeking some healing or inflaming drug, but 
upon a matter of somewhat more- moment. Listen to me, 
while I unfold.’’^ 

So saying, I told all that you already so well know in as 
few words as I could, but leaving out no argument by 
which I could hope to work upon either the cupidity, the 
benevolence, or the patriotism of the Jew. He, with his 
hands folded under his beard, listened without once inter- 
rupting me, but with an expression of countenance so 
stolid, that when I had ended I could guess no better than 
when I began as to the part he would act. 

After a pause of some length, he showly began, discours- 
ing rather with himself than with me: “A large enterprise 
— and to be largely considered. The way is long — seven 
hundred Roman miles at the least — and among little other 
than savage tribes, save here and there a desert, where the 
sands, as is reported, rise and fall like the sea. How can 
an old man like me encounter such labor and peril? 
These unbelieving heathen think not so much of the life 
of a Jew as of a dog. Gentile, why goest thou not thy- 
self?^ ^ 


Thy skill, Isaac, and knowledge of men and countries, 
are more than mine, and will stand thee in good stead. 
Heath were the certain issue, were I to venture upon this 
expedition, and then my brother's fate were sealed for- 
ever. 

‘‘ I seem to thee, Roman Piso, to be a lone man in a wide 


ZEKOBIA. 


57 


world, who may live or die, aud there be none to know 
or care how it is. It is verily much so. Yet I was not 
alvvays alone. Children once leaped at the sound of my 
voice, and clung'in sport to my garment. They are in Abra- 
ham's bosom— better than here. Yet, Roman, I am not 
alone. The God of Israel is with me, and while it is him 
I serve, life is not without value. I trust in the coming 
restoration of Jerusalem: for that I toil, and for that I am 
ready to die. But why should my bones whiten the desert, 
or my mangled carcass swing upOn a Persian gibbet? Will 
that be to die for my country?" 

‘‘ I can enrich thee for thy services, Jew, and thou 
sayest that it is for wealth, that it may be poured into the 
general coffers of thy tribe, that thou traversest the globe. 
Name thy sum, and so it be not beyond reason, I will be 
bound to j)ay thee in good Roman coin." 

This is to be thought of. Doubtless thou wouldst re- 
ward me well. But consider how large this sum must be. 
I fear me thou wilt shrink from the payment of it, for a 
Roman noble loves not money less than a poor Jew. My 
trade in Ctesiphon I lose. That must be made up. My 
faitliful dromedary will be worn out by the long journey: 
that too must be made good. My 23lan will require an 
attendant slave and camel : then there are the dangfers of 
the way — the risk of life in the city of the Great King — 
and, if it be not cut off, the expenses of it. These, to 
Isaac, are not great, but I may be kept there long. " 

But thou wilt abate somewhat of the sum thou hast 
determined upon, out of love to thy kind. Is the jdeasure 
of doing a good deed nothing to thee?" 

“ Not a jot will I abate from a just sum — not a jot. And 
why should I? And thou art not in earnest to ask the 
abatement of a feather's weight. What doth the Jew owe 
the Roman? What hath the Roman done to the Jew? He 
hath laid waste his country with fire and sword. Her towns 
and villages he hath leveled with the ground. The holy 
Jerusalem he hath spoiled and defiled, and then driven 
the plow over its ruins. My people are scattered abroad 
among all nations — subject everywhere to persecution and 
death. This thou knowest is what the Roman hath done. 
And what then owe I, a Jew — a Jew — to the Roman? I 
bear thee, Piso, no ill will; nay, I love thee; but wert thou 
Rome, and this wheaten straw a dagger, it should find thy 


ZENOBIA. 


58 


heart! Nay, start not: I would not hurt a hair of thy 

head. But tell me now if thou agreest to my terms: one 

gold talent of Jerusalem if I return alive with or without 
thy brother, and if I perish, two, to be paid as I shall 
dirGct ^ ^ 

“Most heartily, Isaac, do I agree to them, and bless 
thee more than words can tell, besides. Bring back my 
brother alive, and whatsoever thou shalt desire more, shall 


be freely thine.'’'’ , , 

“lam content. To-morrow then I turn my back upon 
Ctesiphon and Palmyra, and make for Ecbatana. Of my 
progress thou shalt learn. Of success am sure that is, 
if thy brother hearken to the invitation. ^ 

Then giving such instructions as might be necessary on 
my part, we separated. 


LETTEK IV. 

If the gods, dear Marcus and Lu cilia, came down to 
dwell upon earth, they could not but choose Palmyra for 
their seat, both on account of the general beauty of the 
city and its surrounding plains, and the exceeding sweet- 
ness and serenity of its climate. It is a joy here only to sit 
still and live. The air, always loaded with perfume, seems 
'to convey essential nutriment to those who breathe it; and 
its hue, especially when a morning or evening sun shines 
through it, is of that golden cast, which, as poets feign, 
bathes the tops of Olympus. Never do we tremble here 
before blasts like those which from the Appenines sweep 
along the plains and cities of the Italian coast. No ex- 
tremes of either heat or cold are experienced iu this happy 
spot. In winter, airs, which in other places equally far to 
the north would come bearing with them an icy coldness, 
are here tempered by the vast deserts of sand which stretch 
away in every direction, and which it is said never wholly 
lose the heat treasured up during the fierce reign of the 
summer sun. And in summer, the winds which as they 
pass over the deserts are indeed like the breath of a furnace, 
long before they reach the city change to a cool and ref resil- 
ing breeze by traversing as they do the vast tracts of culti- 
vated ground, which, as I have already told you, surround 
the capital to a very great extent on every side. Palmyra 


ZEKOBIA. 


59 


is the very heaven of the body. Every sense is fed to the 
full with that which it chiefly covers. 

But when I add to this, that its unrivaled position, in 
respect to a great inland traffic, has poured into the lap 
of its inhabitants a sudden and boundless flood of wealth, 
making every merchant a prince, you will truly suppose, 
that however heptily I extol it for its outward beauties, 
and all the appliances of luxury, I do not conceive it very 
favorable in its influences upon the character of its popu- 
lation. Palmyrenes, charming as they are, are not 
Pomans. They are enervated by riches, and the luxurious 
senpal indulgences which they bring along by necessity in 
their train — all their evil power being here increased by 
the voluptuous softness of the climate. I do not say that 
all are so. All Rome can not furnish a woman more truly 
Roman than Eausta, nor a man more worthy that name 
than Gracchus. It is of the younger j)ortion of the inhabi- 
tants I now speak. These are without excej^tion effemi- 
nate. They love their country, and their great queen, but 
they are not a defense upon which in time of need to rely. 
Neither do I deny them courage. They want something 
more vital still — bodily strength and martial training. 
Were it not for this, I should almost fear for the issue of 
any encounter between Rome and Palmyra. But as it is, 
notwithstanding the great achievements of Odenatus and 
Zenobia, I can not but deem the glory of this state to have 
risen to its highest point, and even to have passed it. You 
may think me to be hasty in forming this opinion, but I 
am persuaded you will agree with me when you s^iall have 
seen more at length the grounds upon which I rest it, as 
they are laid down in my last letter to Portia. 

Bat I did not mean to say these things when I sat down 
to my tablets, but rather to tell you of myself, and what I 
have seen and done since I last wrote. I have experienced 
and enjoyed much. How indeed could it be otherwise, in 
the house of Gracchus, and with Gracchus and Eausta for 
my companions? Many are the excursions we have to- 
gether taken into the country, to the neighboring hills 
whence the city derives its ample supply of water, and 
even to the very borders of the desert. I have thus seen 
much of this people, of their pursuits, and modes of life, 
and I have found that whether they have been of the 
original Palmyrene population — Persian or Parthian emi- 


60 


ZENOBIA. 


grants— Jews, Arabians, or even Romans — they agree in 
one thing, love of their Queen, and in a determination to 
defend her and her capital to the last extremity, whether 
against the encroachments of Persia or Rome. Independ- 
ence is their watchword. They have already shown, in a 
manner the most unequivocal, and to themselves eternally 
honorable, that they will not be the slaves of Sapor, nor 
dependents upon his power. And in that they have given 
at the same time the clearest proof of their kindly feeling 
toward us, and of their earnest desire to live at peace with 
us. I truly hope that no extravagances on the part of the 
Queen, or her too-ambitious advisers, will endanger the 
existing tranquillity; yet from a late occurrence of which I 
was myself a witness among otlier excited thousands, I am 
filled with apprehension. 

That to which I allude, happened at the great amphi- 
theater, during an exhibition of games given by Zenobia on 
the occasion of her return, in which the Palmyrenes, espe- 
cially those of Roman descent, take great delight. I care, 
as you know, nothing for them, nor only that, abhor them 
for their power to imbrute the people accustomed to their 
spectacles more and more. In this instance I was per- 
suaded by Fausta and Gracchus to attend, as I should see 
both the queen and her subjects under favorable circum- 
stances to obtain new knowledge of their characters; and I 
am not sorry to have been there. 

The show could boast all the magnificence of Rome. 
Nothing could exceed the excitement and tumult of the 
city. Its whole population was abroad to partake of the 
general joy. Early in the day the streets began to. be 
thronged with the multitudes who were either pouring along 
toward the theater, to secure in season the best seats, or 
with eager curiosity pressing after the cages of wild ani- 
mals drawn by elephants or camels toward the place of 
combat and slaughter. As a part of this throng, I found 
myself, seated between Gracchus and Fausta, in their 
most sumptuous chariot, themselves arrayed in their most 
sumptuous attire. Our horses could scarcely do more than 
walk, and were frequently oblige to stand still, owing to 
the crowds of men on horse, on foot, and in vehicles of 
every sort, which filled the streets. The roaring of the im- 
prisoned animals, the loud voices of their keepers, and of 
the drivers of the cumbrous wagons which held them, the 


ZENOEIA. 


61 


neighing, or screaming I might say, of the affrighted horses 
every now and then brought into immediate contact with 
the wild beasts of the forests, lions, tigers or leopards, 
made a scene of confusion, the very counterpart of what 
we have so often witnessed in Kome, which always pains 
more than it pleases me, and which I now describe at all, 
only that you may believe what Romans are so slow to be- 
lieve, that there are other cities in the world where great 
actions are done as well as in their own. The inhabitants 
of Palmyi’a are as quick as you could desire them to be, in 
catching the vices and fashions of the great metropolis. 

“ Scipio, Scipio,^^ cried Gracchus suddenly to his chari- 
oteer, “be not in too great haste. It is in vain to at- 
tempt to pass that wagon; nay, unless you shall be a little 
more reserved in your approaches, the paw of that tawny 
Numidian will find its way to the neck of our favorite 
Arab. The bars of his cage are over far apart. 

“ I almost wish they were yet further apart, said I, 
“ and that he might fairly find liis way into the thickest of 
this foolish crowd, and take a short revenge upon his civi- 
lized tormentors. What a spectacle is this — more strange 
and savage, I think, looked upon aright, than that which 
we are going to enjoy — of you, Gracchus, a pillar of a 

f reat kingdom; of me, a pillar — a lesser one, indeed, 
ut still a pillar — of a greater kingdom; and of you 
Fausta, a woman, all on our way to see wild beasts 
let loose to lacerate and destroy each other, and what is 
worse, gladiators, that is, educated murderers, set upon 
one another, to die for our entertainment. The best thing 
I have heard of the Christian superstition is, that it utterly 
denounces and prohibits its disciples the frequenting of 
these shows. Nothing to me is plainer than that we may 
trace the cruelties of Marius, Sylla, and their worthy imi- 
tators through the long line of our Emperors, to these 
schools, where they had their early training. Why were 
Domitian and his fiy worse than Gracchus, or Piso, or 
Eausta, and their gored elephant, or dying gladiator 
“You take this custom too seriously, replied Grac- 
chus. “ I see in it, so far as the beasts are concerned, but 
a lawful source of pleasure. If they tore not one another 
in pieces for our entertainment, they would still do it for 
their own, in their native forests; and if it must be done, it 
were a pity none enjoyed it. Then for the effects upon 


62 


ZEIS'OBIA. 


the beholding crowd, lam inclined to think they are rather 
necessary and wholesome than otherwise. They help to 
render men insensible to danger, suffering, and death; and 
as we are so often called upon to fight each other, and die 
in defense of our liberties, or of our tyrants and oppressors, 
whichever it may be, it seems to me we are in need of some 
such initiatory process in the art of seeing blood shed un- 
moved, and of some lessons which shall diminish our love 
and regard for life. As for the gladiators, they are 
wretches who are better dead than alive; and to die in the 
excitement of a combat is not worse, perhaps, than to ex- 
pire through the slow and lingering assaults of a painful 
disease. Besides, with us there is never, as with you, cool 
and deliberate murder perpetrated on the part of the as- 
sembly. There is here no turning up of the thumb. It is 
all ‘ honorable fighting, and honorable killing. What, 
moreover, shall be done to entertain the people? We must 
feed them with some such spectacles, or I verily tliink they 
would turn upon each other for amusement, in civil broil 
and slaughter. 

y Your Epicurean pliilosoifiiy teaches you, I amaware,''^ 
said I in reply, “ to draw happiness as you best can from 

all the various mstitutions of Providence and of man not 

to contend but to receive, and submit, and be thankful. It 
is a philosoiDhy well enough for m an ^s enjoyment of the 
passing hour, but it fatally obstructs, it apjjears to me, the 
way of improvement. For my own part, though lam 
no philosopher, yet I hold to this, that whatever our reason 
proves to be wrong or defective, it at the same time en- 
lorces the duty of change and reform— that no palpable 
evil, either in life or gov'ernment, is to be passively submit- 
ted to as incurable. In these sjiectacles I behold an enor- 
mous wrong, a terrific evil; and though I see not how the 
wrong IS to be redressed, nor the evil to be removed, I none 
tlie less, but so much the more, conceive it to be my part 
as a man and a citizen, to think and converse, a's now’ 
upon the subject, in the hope that some new light mav 
dawn upon its darkness. What think you, Fausta?’ I 
hope you agree with me— nay, as to that, I think Graodius, 
trom his tone, was but half in earnest.” 

‘ It has struck me cliiefiy,” said Fausta, “ as a foolish 
custom; not so much in itself very wrong, as childish. It 
IS to me indeed attended with pain, but that I suppose is a 


ZEJ5-0BIA. 


63 




weakness of my own — it seems not to be so in the case of 
others. I have thought it a poor^ barren entertainment, 
fit but for children, and those grown children whose 
minds, uninstructed in higher things, must seek their hap- 
piness in some spring of mere sensual joy. Women fre- 
quent the amphitheater, I am sure, rather to make a show 
of ^ their beauty, their dress, and equipage, than for any- 
thing else; and they would, I believe, easily give in to any 
change, so it should leave them an equally fair occasion of 
display. But so far as attending the spectacles tends to 
make better soldiers, and stouter defenders of our Queen, I 
confess, Lucius, I look upon them with some favor. But 
come, our talk is getting to be a little too grave. Look, 
Lucius, if this be not a brave sight? See what a mass of 
life encompasses the circus! And its vast walls, from the 
lowest entrances to its very summit, swarm as it were with 
the whole po23ulation of Palmyra. It is not so large a 
building as your Flavian, but it is not wholly unworthy to 
be compared withit.^-’ 

‘‘ It is not, indeed,'’^ said I; although not so large, its 
architecture is equally in accordance with the best princi- 
ples, both of science and taste, and the stone is of a purer 
white, and more finely worked. " 

We now descended from our carriage, and made our way 
through the narrow passages and up the narrow stairways 
to the interior of the theater, 'which was already much 
more than half filled. The seats to 'which we were conduct- 
ed were ' not far from those which were to be occupied by 
the Queen and her train. I need not tell you how the 
time was passed which intervened between taking our seats, 
the filling of the theater, and the commencement of the 
games — how we all were amused by the fierce stragglings 
of those who most wished to exhibit themselves, for the 
best places; by the efforts of many to cause themselves to 
be recognized by those who were of higher rank than them- 
selves, and to avoid the neighborhood and escape the no- 
tice of others whose acquaintance Avould bring them no 
credit; how we laughed at the awkward movements and 
labors of the servants of the circus, who were busying 
themselves in giving its final smoothness to the saw-dust 
and hurrying through the last little offices of so vast a 
preparation, urged on continually by the voices or lashes 
of the managers of the games; nor how our ears were deaf- 


64 


ZENOBIA. 


ened by the fearful yelliiigs of the maddened beasts con- 
fined in the vivaria, the grated doors of which opened, as 
in the Roman buildings of the same kind, immediately on 
the arena. Neither will I inflict weariness upon myself or 
you, by a detailed account of the kind and order of the 
games at this time exhibited for the entertainment of the 
people. The whole show was an exact copy from the usages 
of Rome. I could hardly believe myself in the heart of 
Asia. Touching only on these things so familiar to you, I 
will relate what I was able to observe of the Queen and her 
demeanoi’, about which I know you will feel chiefly desirous 
of information. 

It was not till after the games had been some time in 
progress, and the wrestlers and mock-fighters having fin- 
ished their foolish feats, the combats of wild animals with 
each other had commenced, that a herald announced by 
sound of trumpet the api^roach of the Queen. The mo- 
ment that sound, and the loud clang of martial music 
which followed it was heard, every eye of the vast multi- 
tude was turned to the j^art of the circus where we were 
sitting, and near which was the passage by which Zenobia 
would enter the theater. The animals now tore each other 
piecemeal, unnoticed by the impatient throng. A greater 
care possessed them. And no sooner did the object of this 
universal expectation reveal herself to their sight, led to her 
seat by the dark Zabdas, followed by the Princess Julia and 
Longinus, and accompanied by a crowd of the rank and 
beauty of Palmyra, than one enthusiastic cry of loyalty and 
affection rent the air, drowning all other sounds, and 
causing the silken canopy of the amphitheater to sway to 
and fro as if shaken by a tempest. The very foundations 
of the large structure seemed to tremble in their iff aces. 
Uith what queenly dignity, yet with what enchanting 
siveetness, did the great Zenobia acknowledge the greetings 
of her people! The color of her cheek mounted and fell 
again, even as it would have done in a young girl, and 
glances full of sensibility and love went from her to every 
part of the boundless interior, and seemed to seek out every 
individual and to each make a separate return for the 
hearty welcome with which she had been received. These 
mutual courtesies being quickly ended, the games again 
went on, and every eye was soon riveted on the arena where 
animals were contending with each other or with men. 


ZENOBIA. 


\0 


G5 

The multitude being thus intently engaged, those who 
chose to employ their time differently were left at full lib- 
erty to amuse themselves with conversation or otherwise, 
as it pleased them. Many a fat and unwieldy citizen we 
savv soundly sleeping in spite of the roarings of the beasts 
and the shouts of the spectators. Others, gathering to- 
gether in little societies of their own, passed all the inter- 
vals between the games, as well as the time taken up by 
games wdiich gave them no pleasure, in discussing with one 
another the fashions, the news, or the politics of the day. 
Of these parties we were one; for neither Gracchus, nor 
Fausta, nor I, cared much for the sports of the day, and 
there W’-ere few foolish or -wise things that w^ere not uttered 
by one of us during the continuance of those tedious, never- 
ending games. 

‘‘Well, Lucius,^" said Fausta, ‘‘and what think you 
now of our great Queen? For the last half hour your eyes 
having scarcely wandered from her, you must by this time 
be prepared with an opinion. 

‘‘ There can be little interest, "" said I, “ in hearing an 
opinion on a subject about which all the world is agreed. 
I can only say, what all say. I confess I have never before 
seen a woman. I am already i^repared to love and worship 
her with you, for I am sure that such pre-eminent beauty 
exists in company with a goodness that, corresponds to it. 
Her intellect too we know is not surpassed in strength by 
that of any philosopher of the East. These things being 
so, where in the world can we believe there is a woman to 
be compared with her? As for Cleopatra, she is not worthy 
to be named. "" 

As I uttered these things with animation and vehemence, 
showing I suppose in my manner how deeply I felt all that 
I said, I perceived Fausta"s fine countenance glowing with 
emotion, and tears of gratified affection standing in her 
eyes. 

Gracchus spoke. “ Piso,"" said he, “ I do not wonder at 
the enthusiastic warmth of your language. Chilled as my 
blood is by the approaches of age, I feel even as you do; 
nay, I suppose I feel much more; for to all your admira- 
tion, as a mere philosophical observer, there is added in 
my case the fervid attachment which springs from long 
and intimate knowledge, and from an intercourse, which 
not the coolness of a single hour has ever interrupted. It 


66 


ZEKOBIA. 


would be strange indeed if there were not one single flaw 
in so bright an emanation from the very soul of the divin- 
ity, wearing as it does the form of humanity. I allude to 
her ambition. It is boundless, almost insane. OaesaF 
himself was not more ambitious. But in her even this is 
partly a virtue, even in its wildest extravagance; for it is 
never for herself alone that she reaches so far and so high, 
but as much or more for her people. She never separates 
herself from them, even in • thought, and all her aspirings 
are, that she herself may be great indeed, but that her 
country may with and through her be great also, and her 
people happy. AVhen I see her as now surrounded by her 
subjects, and lodged-in their very heart of hearts, I wish — 
and fervently would I pray, were there gods to implore — 
that her restless spirit may be at peace, and that she may 
seek no higher good either for herself or her people than 
that which we now enjoy. But I confess myself to be full 
of apprehension. I tremble for my country. And yet 
here is my little rebel, Fausta, who will not hearken to 
this, but adds the fuel of her own fiery spirit to feed that 
of her great mistress. It were beyond a doubt a good law 
which should exclude women from any part in public 
affairs."" 

‘‘ Dear father, how do you remind me of the elder Cato, 
in the matter of the Oppian Law: while women interfered 
in public affairs, only to promote the interests of their 
worthy husbands, the lords of the world, the great Cato 
had never thought but to commend them; but no sooner 
did they seek to secure some privileges very dear to them 
as women, and clamor a little in order to obtain them, than 
straightway they were nuisances in the body-politic, and 
ought to be restrained by enactments from having any voice 
in the business of the state. Truly I think this is far from 
generous treatment. And happy am I, for one, that at 
length the gods m their good providence have permitted 
that one woman should arise to vindicate her sex against 
the tyranny of their ancient oppressors and traducers. If 
I might :ippoint to the spirits of the departed their offices, 

I could wish nothing merrier than that that same Cato- 
should be made the news-carrier from the kingdom of 
Zenobia to the council of the gods. How he would enjoy 
his occupation! But seriously, dear father, I see not that 
our Queen has any more of this same ambition than men 


ZENOBIA. 


67 


are m a similar position permitted to have, and accounted 
Is tliat a vice in Zenobia which is a 
glory m Aurelian? Longmns would not decide so. Ob- 
sei ve how intent the Queen is upon the games.” 
ntinn^ rather,” Said I, “that she should not gaze 
S n I*'® Princess Julia has 

nidden her head in the folds of her veil/^ 

“is even tenderer than a 
woman s. Asides, if I mistake not, she has on this point 
at least adopted some of the notions of the Christians. Paul 
01 Antioch has not been without his power over her. And 
truly his genius is well-nigh irresistible. A stronger intel- 
lect than hers might without shame yield to hisf Look, 
look.— the elephant will surely conquer after all. The 
gods grant he may! He is a noble creature: but how 
cruelly beset! Three such foes are too much for a fair 
battle. How he has wreathed his trunk round that tiffer 
and now whirls him in the air! But the rhinoceros sees his 
advantage: quick — quick!^^ 

Tausta, too, could not endure the savage sight, but 
turned her head away; for the huge rhinoceros, as the ele- 
phant htted the tiger froin the ground, in the act to dash 
him again to the earth, seized the moment, and before the 
noble animal could recover himself, buried his enormous 
tusk deep in Ins vitals. It was fatal to both, for the assail- 
ant, unable to extricate his horn, was crushed through 
every bone in his body, by the weight of the falling ele- 
phant. A single tiger remained master of the field, who 
now testified his joy by coursing round and round the 
arena. 


Well, well,^^ said Gracchus, “ they would have died in 
the forest; what signifies it? But why is this blast of 
trumpets? It is the royal flourish! Ah! I see how it is; 
the sons of Zenobia, whom none miss not being present, are 
about to enter the theater. They make amends by the 
noise of their approach for their temporary absence. Yet 
these distant shouts are more than usual. The gods grant 
that none of my fears may turn true!^^ 

Ho sooner had Gracchus ended these words, while his 
face grew pale with anxious expectation, than suddenly 
the three sons of the Queen made their appearance, and — 
how shall I say it? — arrayed in imperial purple, and hab- 
ited in all respects as Caesars. It seemed to me as if at 


68 


ZENOBIA. 


that very moment the pillars of this flourishing empire 
crumbled to their foundation. And now while I write^ 
and the heat of that moment is passed, I can not but pre- 
dict disaster and ruin, at least fierce and desolating wars, 
as the consequence of the rash act. I know the soul of 
Aurelian, and that it will never brook what it shall so 
much as dream to be an indignity— never endure so much 
as the thought of rivalry in another, whether Eoman or 
foreigner, man or woman. ' To think it is treason with 
him— a crime for which blood only can atone. 

Having entered thus the amphitheater, assuming a high 
and haughty bearing, as if they were already masters of the 
world, they advanced to the front railing, and there re- 
ceived the tumultuous acclamations of the people. A 
thousand different cries, filled the air. Each uttered the 
sentiment which possessed him, regardless of all but testify- 
ing loyalty and devotion to the reigning house. Much of 
the language was directed against Rome, which, since the 
circulation of the rumors of which I have already spoken, 
has become the object of their most jealous regard. Aure- 
lian's name was coupled with every term of reproach. 
“Is Aurelian to possess the whole earth?'" cried one. 
“ Who are Romans?" cried another; “ the story of Val- 
erian shows that they are not invincible." “ AVe will put 
Zabdas and Zenobia against the world!" shouted others. 
“ The conqueror of Egypt forever!— long live the great 
Zabdas!" rose from every quarter. It were in vain to at- 
tempt to remember or write down half the violent things 
which in this hour of madness were uttered. The games 
were for a long time necessarily suspended, and the whole 
amphitheater was converted into an arena of political dis- 
cussion, from which arose the confused din of unnumbered 
voices, like the roar of the angry ocean. I looked at Zeno- 
bia; she was calm — satisfied. Pride was upon her lip and 
brow. So like a god was the expression of her whole form, 
that for a moment I almost wished her mistress of the 
world. She seemed worthy to reign. J ulia was evidently 
sad, and almost distressed; Longinus, impenetrable as 
marble; Zabdas, black and lowering as night. 

Quiet was at length restored, and the games went on. 

A messenger came now from the Queen to our seat, with 
the request that Fausta should join her, not being satisfied 
with the distant intercourse of looks and signs. So, ac- 


ZEKOBIA. 


69 

companied by Gracchus, she was soon placed by the side of 
Zenobia, whose happiness seemed doubled by the society 
of, I believe, her choicest friend. Left now to myself, I 
had leisure to think and to observe. A. more gorgeous 
show than this vast assembly presented, I think I never be- 
foie beheld no, not even in the Flavian. Although in 
Eome we seem to draw together people of all regions and 
all climes, yet after all the North and West preponderate, 
and we lack the gayer costumes which a larger proportion 
of these Orientals would add to our spectacles. Not to say 
too, that here in the East the beauty of woman is more 
transcendent, and the forms of the men cast in a finer mold. 
Every variety of complexion is here also to be seen, from 
the jet black of the slender Ethiopian, to the more than 
white of the women of the Danube. Here I saw before 
me, in one promiscuous throng, arrayed in their national 
dresses, Persians, dark -skinned Indians, swarthy Egyptians, 
the languishing, soft-eyed Syrian, nymphs from the bor- 
ders of the Caspian, women of the Jews from the shores of 
the Mediterranean, Greeks from Asia Minor, the Islands, 
and Attica, with their classic costume and sfcatue-like forms 
and faces, Homans, and, abounding over all and more 
beautiful than all, the richly-habited nobles and gentry of 
Palmyra itself. I enjoyed the scene as a man and a phi- 
losopher; nay, as a Eoman too: and could not but desire 
earnestly, that the state, of whose prosperity it was so clear 
a token, might last even with Rome itself. I wished you 
and Lucilia at my side — not to mention the little Gallus— 
not, as you may believe, to witness the games, but to be- 
hold in this remote center of Asia so fair a show of our 
common race. 

It was not till the sun was already about to sink in the 
west, that the games ended, and the crowds dispersed, and 
I once more found myself in the peaceful precincts of 
home; for so already do I call the hospitable dwelling of 
Gracchus. 

So, Fausta,^^ said I, you forsook your old friend 
Lucius for the companionship of a queen? Truly I can 
not blame you, for most gladly would I too have gone and 
made one of your circle. How irksome are the forms and 
restraints of station, and even of society! how little free- 
dom do they allow in the expression of our real sentiments! 
Could I have sat with you by Zenobia, can I doubt that by 


70 


ZENOBIA. 


a frank disclosure of my feelings and opinions, I could have 
corrected some errors, softened some prejudices, and at 
the same time gained her esteem — her esteem for me, I 
mean, as a sincere well-wisher to her kingdom, although 
none the less a Eoman? It would have been a fortunate 
moment for such communication as I desire. I trust yet, 
seeing such a promise has gone forth from you, to see her 
in her own palace. 

Indeed you shall, said Fausta: “it has only been 
owing to fatigue, after her long excursion, and to this show 
of games, that you have not seen her long before this. She 
is well aware of your rank and footing of intimacy with 
Aurelian, and of the object for which you make this visit 
to her capital, and has expressed frequent and earnest de- 
sires of an interview with you. And now have I a great 
mind not to tell you of the speedy pleasure and honor that 
await you. What will you give to know the tenor of what 
I have to say?^^ 

‘ I will confer the greatest honor in my power, said I: 

I will dislodge the Emperor from my own finger and re- 
place him upon yours. Here I offer you the head of 
Aurelian — cut, not indeed by the cunning tool of Deme- 
trius of Eome, but doubtless by some competent artist. Is 
it not a fair one, Gracchus 

“I fear unless you make a different and a better one you 
will scarce open the lips of our fierce patriot,^ ^ answered 
Gracchus. 

“ That will he not,^^ said Fausta; “ were he to engage 
by to-morrow to make himself over into a veritable, sound- 
hearted, queen-loving Palmyrene, it would not be more 
than he ought to do. I am sure, old Solon toiled hard to 
make a Eoman out of me, and how do I know but it was 
at your instance? And it having been so, as I must be- 
lieve, what less can you do in atonement than to plant 
yourself here upon the soil of Palmyra? A Eoman, trust 
me, takes quick root in this rich earth, and soon shoots uj) 
and spreads out into a perfectly proportioned Palmyrene, 
tall and beautiful as a date-tree. Father, how can we bribe 
him? You shake your head as if without hope. Well, let 
us wait till Calpurnius returns; when you find him an 
Oriental, perhaps you may be induced to emigrate too. 
Surely it is no such great matter to remove from- Eome to 
Palmyra. We do not ask you to love Eome any the less. 


ZEKOBIA. 


71 

but only Palmyra more. I still trust we shall ever dwell 
m friendship with each other. We certainly must desire 
it, who are half Roman. But why do I keep you in such 
painful suspense? Hear, then, my message, which is, that 
you will appear at the palace of Zenobia to-morrow. The 
Queen desires a private interview with you, and for that 
purpose will receive no other visitors. Her messenger will 
in the morning apprise you of the hour, and conduct you 
to the palace! Ah! I see by your countenance how delight- 
ed you are. It is no wonder. 

‘'lam delighted, indeed,"^ said I; “ that is a part of my 
feeling, but not the whole of it. I can not, accustomed 
even as I have been to associate with the high in rank and 
. intellect in various countries, without some inward per- 
turbation think of meeting for the first time so remarkable 
a person; one whose name is known not only throughout 
, Asia, but the world; and whose genius and virtues are the 
theme of universal wonder and praise. Then, Fausta, 
Zenobia is a woman, and a woman inspires an awe which 
man never does; and what is more yet, she is of a marvel- 
ous beauty, and before that most perfect work of the gods, 
a beautiful woman, I am apt to be awkward and dumb; at 
the least — which perhaps it is — made to think too much of 
myself to acquit myself well. You may think that I exag- 
gerate these feelings. Possibly I do. Certainly they are 
not of such strength that I do not gladly seize upon the 
favor thus extended, and count myself honored and 
happy. 

“ Where, Lucius, tell me where you learned this new 
dialect, which runs so sweetly when woman is the theme. 
♦Sure am I, it is not Roman. Ovid has it not. Kor yet is 
it Palmyrene. Do we owe it to a rich invention of your 
own?^^ 

“ Fausta, I am in earnest in what I have said. It is my 
own native dialect — instinctive. Therefore laugh not, but 
give me a lesson how I shall deport myself. Remember 
the lessons I have so many times given you in Rome, and 
now that you have risen into the seat of power, return 
them as you are bound to do.’’^ 

“Now are you both little more than two foolish chil- 
dren, but just escaped from the nursery/^ cried Gracchus, 
who had been pacing up and down the portico, little heed- 
ing, to all appearance, what was going on. “ Lucius, ask 


72 


ZENOBIA. 


no advice of that wild school-girl. Listen to me, who am 
a conselor, and of age, and ought, if I do not, to speak the 
words of wisdom. Take along with thee nothing but thy 
common sense, and an honest purpose, and then Venus 
herself would not daunt thee, nor Rhadamanthus and the 
Luries terrify. Forget not too, that beneath this exterior 
covering, first of clothes, and then of flesh, there lies 
enshrined in the breast of Zenobia, as of you and me, a 
human heart, and that this is ever and in all the same, 
eternally responsive to the same notes, by whomsoever 
struck. This is a great secret. Believe too, that in our 
good Queen this heart is pure as a child^s; or, if I may 
use another similitude, and you can understand it, pure as 
a Christianas — rather, 2:)erhaps, as a Christianas ought to 
be. Take this also, that the high tremble to meet the low, 
as often as the low to meet the high. Now ask no more 
counsel of Fausta, but digest what the oracle has given 
out, and which now for the night is silent. 

In this sportive mood we separated. 

At the appointed hour on the following day, the ex- 
pected messenger appeared, and announcing the Queen^s 
pleasure that I should attend her at the palace, conducted 
me there with as much of state as if I had been Aurelian^s 
ambassador. 

On arriving at the palace, I was ushered into an apart- 
ment, not large, but of exquisite architecture, finished and 
furnished in the Persian taste, where sat Zenobia and Julia. 
At the feet of the Queen, and supporting them upon an 
embroidered cushion of silk, there lay crouched a beauti- 
ful Indian slave. If it was her office to bear that light and, 
pretty burden, it seemed to be her pleasure too; for she* 
was ever weaving round it in playful manner her jewelled 
fingers; casting upward to her mistress frequent glances of 
most affectionate regard. 

Noble Piso,"" said the Queen, after I had approached 
and saluted her in the appointed manner, ‘‘ it gives me 
pleasure to greet one of your ancient name in Palmyra. I 
seem already acquainted with you through my fast friends 
Oracchus and his bright daughter. You have lost nothing, 

I am sure, in coming to us first through their lips; and if 
any lips are honest and true, it is theirs. We wefcome you 
to the city of the desert. 


ZENOBIA. 


73 


‘‘ Great Queen/ ^ I replied, ‘‘ it is both a pleasure and a 
pain to find myself in your brilliant capital. I left Rome 
upon a melancholy errand, which I have as yet but half 
accomplished. Till success shall crown it, I can but half 
enjoy the novel scenes, full of interest and beauty, wliich 
your kingdom and city present. It was to rescue a brother 
--if I may speak for one moment of myself — held in cap- 
tivity since the disaster of Valerian, that I set sail from 
Italy, and am now a dweller in Palmyra. From this 
point, I persuaded myself I could best operate for his de- 
liverance. My first impulse was to throw myself at your 
feet, and ask of you both counsel and aid.^'’ 

They should have been gladly yours, veiy heartily 
yours. It was a foul deed of Sapor — and a sad fate, that 
of the great Censor, and of your father the good Coenius 
Piso. And yet I see not much that I could have done."’'’ 

‘‘ Refuse not my thanks,^^ said I, ‘‘ for the expression, 
of so generous sentiments. I am sure I should have shared 
a goodness of which all seem to partake, had I thought it 
right and necessary to appeal to you. But I was soon con- 
vinced, by the arguments of both Gracchus and Fausta, 
that my chance of success was greater through private 
than through public enterprise. And happy am I to be 
able to say, that I have found and employed an emissary, 
who, if the business be capable of accomplishment by 
human endeavors, will with more likelihood than any other 
that could easily be named, accomplish it. Aurelian him- 
self could not here do as ijinch nor as well as Isaac of 
Rome.^^ 

“ I believe,’’ said Zenobia, “ you will readily agree with 
me in the opinion, that Rome has never respected herself 
so little as in her neglect of Valerian and his fellow-suffer- 
ers. But for the scathing got from our arm, the i^roud 
Persian had come out of that encounter with nothing but 
laurels. We, thanks to the bravery and accomplished art 
of Odenatus, tore off some of those laurels, and left upon 
the body of the Great King the marks of blows which 
smart yet. This Indian girl at my feet was of the house- 
hold of Sapor — a slave of one of those women of whom we 
took a tent full. The shame of this loss yet rankles deep 
in the heart of the king. But should Rome have dealt so 
by her good Emperor and her brave soldiers? Ought she 
to have left it to a then new and small power to take 


74 


ZENOBIA. 


vengeance on her mean, base-minded, yet powerful foe? 
It is not even yet too late, methinks, for her to stir herself, 
were it only to rescue one of the noble house of Piso. Per- 
haps it may be with some intent of this kind that we hear 
rumors of an Asiatic expedition. Aurelian, we learn, hav- 
ing wearied himself with victory in Gaul and Germany, 
turns his thoughts toward the East. What can his aim 
’ be, if not Persia? But I truly rejoice that through efforts 
of your own you have so good prospect of seeing again 
your captive brother. 

I have no knowledge of the purposes of the Eoman 
Emperor,'’^ I replied, “ but such as is common to all. 
Though honored with the friendship of Aurelian, I am not 
a political confidant. I can only conjecture touching his 
designs, from my acquaintance with his character, and the 
features of the policy he has adopted and avowed as that 
which is to govern his administration. And this policy is 
that which has been acted upon by so many of those who 
before him have been raised to the head of our nation, 
namely this, that, west of the Euphrates to the furthest 
limits of Spain and Gaul embracing all the shores of the 
Mediterranean, with their thickly scattered nations, there 
shall be but one empire, and of that one empire but one 
head. It is the fixed purpose of Aurelian to restore to the 
empire the unity by which it was distinguished and blessed 
under the two Antonines. And already his movements in 
Gaul show that his practice is to conform to his theory. I 
feel that you will pardon, nay, that you will commend me 
for the plainness with which I impart such knowledge as I 
may possess. It will be to me the dearest happiness, if I 
can subserve in any way, consistently with my duty to 
Eome, the interests of Palmyra and her Queen. 

‘‘ Roman,^^ said Zenobia in reply, “ I honor your frank- 
ness, and thank you for your faith in my generosity. It is 
not, I assure you, misplaced. I am glad to know from so 
authentic a source the policy of Aurelian. I surmised as 
much before. All that I have thought, will come true. 
The rumors which are afloat are not without foundation. 
Your emperor understands that I have a policy as well as 
he, and a fixed purpose as well as he. I will never fall 
from what I have been, but into ruin final and complete. 

I have lived a sovereign Queen, and so I will die. The son 
of Valerian received Odenatus and Zenobia as partners in. 


ZENOBIA. 


75 


empire. We were representatives of Rome in the East. 
Our dignities and our titles were those of Gallienus. Ifc 
were small boasting to say that they were worn not less 
worthily here than in Rome. And this association with 
Rome— I sought it not. It was otfdi’ed as a tribute to our 
greatness. Shall it be dissolved at the will of Aiirelian?— 
and Palmyra, no longer needed as a scourge for the Great 
King, be broken down into a tributary province, an ob- 
scure appendage of your greatness? May the gods forsake 
me that moment I am false to my country! I am too am- 
bitious, as well as Aurelian. And let him be told, that 
I stipulate for a full partnership of .the Roman power — my 
sons to bear the name and rank of Caesar — or the tie which 
unites Palmyra to Rome is at once and forever sundered, 
and she stands before the world an independent kingdom, 
to make good as she may, by feats of arms, her claim 
to that high dignity; and the arms which have prevailed 
from the Kile to the shores of the Caspian, from the 
Euphrates to the Mediterranean, and have triumphed more 
than once over the pride and power of Persia, may be 
trusted in any encounter, if the fates should so ordain, 
with even Rome herself. The conqueror of Egypt would, 
I believe, run a not ignoble tilt with the conqueror of a 
Gallic province. 

‘‘Dearest mother,^ ^ said the Princess Julia, in a voice 
full of earnest entreaty, “ do not, do not give way to such 
thoughts. Heed not these lying rumors. Trust in the 
magnanimity of Aurelian. We make the virtue we believe 
in. Let it not reach his ears that you have doubted 
him. 

I can see no reason why he should desire to disturb the 
harmony that has so long reigned — and Aurelian is no 
madman. What could he gain by a warlike expedition, 
which a few words could not gain? Noble Piso, if your 
great emperor would but speak before he acts — if indeed 
any purpose like that which is attributed to him has entered 
his mind — a world of evil, and suffering, and crime, might 
possibly be saved. Zenobia, though ambitious, is reasona- 
ble and patient, and will listen as becomes a philosopher, 
and a lover of her people, to anything he should say. It 
were a great act of friendship to press upon him the policy, 
as well as the virtue of moderation.-’^ 

Zenobia gave a mother’s smile of love to her daughter. 


76 


ZElSrOBIA. 


whose countenance, while she uttered these few words, was 
brilliant with the beauty of strong emotion. 

‘‘ No act of friendship like this, lady,^^ said I, shall be 
wanting on my part. If I have any influence over the 
mind of Aurelian, it shall be exeided to serve the cause of 
peace. I have dear friends in Palmyra, and this short 
residence among her people has bound me to them very 
closely. It would grieve me sorely to feel that as a Roman 
and a lover of my country, I must needs break these so 
lately knitted bonds of affection. But, I am obliged to say 
it, I am now full of apprehension, lest no efforts of mine, 
or of any, may have power, to avert the calamities which 
impend. The scene I was witness of but so few hours ago, 
seems to me now to cut off all hope of an amicable adjust- 
ment.^^ 

Julians countenance fell. The air of pride in Zenobia 
mounted higher and higher. 

‘‘ And what was it I did?^^ said Zenobia. “ Do I not 
stand upon the records of the Senate, Augusta of the 
Roman empire! Was not the late renowned Odenatus, 
Augustus by the decree of that same Senate? And was I 
not then right to call my own sons by their rightful title of 
Caesar? — and invest them witli the appropriate robe, and 
even show them to the people as their destined rulers? I 
am yet to learn that in aught I have offended against any 
fair construction of the Roman law. And unless I may 
thus stand in equal honor with other partners of this em- 
pire, asking and receiving nothing as favor, I sever myself 
and my kingdom fi'om it.^^ 

But,^^ said Julia, in her persuasive voice, whose very 
tones were enough to change the harshest sentiment to 
music, why put at hazard the certain good we now enjoy, 
the peace and prosperity of this fair realm, for what at 
best is but a shadow — a name? What is it to you or me 
that Timolaus, Herennianus, and Vabalathus be hailed 
by the pretty style of Caesar? For me at least, and so I 
think for all who love you, it is enough that they are the 
sons of Zenobia. ^ Who shall heap more upon that honor?^^ 

‘‘ Julia,^^ replied the Queen, “ as the world deems — and 
we are in the world and of it — honor and greatness lie not 
in those things which are truly honorable and great; not 
in learning or genius, else were Longinus upon this throne, 
and I his waiting woman; not in action — else were the 


ZENOBIA. 


77 


great Zabdas king; not in merit, else were many a dame of 
Palmyra where I am, and. I a patient household drudge. 
Birth, and. station, aud power,' are before these. Men 
bow before names, and scepters, and robes of office, lower 
than before the gods themselves. Nay, here in the East, 
power itself were a shadow without its tinsel trappings. 
^Tis vain to stand against the world. I am one of the 
general herd. What they honor, I crave. This coronet of 
pearl, this gorgeous robe, this golden chair, this human 
footstool, in the eye of a severe judgment, may signify but 
little. Zeno or Diogenes might smile upon them wdth 
contempt. But so thinks not the world. It is no secret 
that in Timolaus, Herennianus and Vabalathus dwells not 
the wisdom of Longinus, nor the virtue of Valerian. 
What then so crazed the assembled people of Palmyra, but 
the purple-colored mantle of the Eoman Caesar? I am for 
that fathoms deeper in the great heart of my people. These 
are poor opinions, so thou judgest, Boman, for the pupil 
of the chief philosopher of our age, and through him skilled 
in all the learning of the Greeks. But forget not that I 
am an Oriental and — a woman. This double nature works 
at my heart with more than all the power of the schools. 
Who and what so strong as the divinity within?^" 

This is a poor record, my Curtius of what fell from this 
extraordinary woman. W ould that I could set down the 
noble sentiments which, in the midst of so much that I 
could not approve, came from her lips in a language worthy 
of her great teacher! Would that I could transfer to my 
pages the touching eloquence of the divine J ulia, whose 
mind, I know not how it is, moves in a higher world than 
ours. Sometimes, nay, many times, her thoughts, strpge- 
ly enough, raised up before me the image of the Christian 
Probus, of whom I had till then scarcely thought since our 
parting. Eor a long time was this interview continued — 
an interview to me more stirring than any other of my life, 
and, owing to the part I was obliged to take, almost pain- 
fully so. Much that I said could not but have grated 
harshly upon the proud and ambitious spirit of Zenobia. 
But I shrunk from nothing that in the least degree might 
tend to shake her in the designs which now possess and 
agitate her, and which, as it seems to me, can not be car- 
ried out without great danger to the safety or existence of 
her kingdom; though I can not but say, that if a rupture 


78 


ZEKOBIA. 


should occur between Palmyra and Rome, imprudence 
might indeed be charged upon Zenobia, but guilt, deep 
guiJt, would lie at the door of Aurelian. It was a great 
aid that Julia, in all I said, was my ally. Her assent gave 
^double force to every argument I used; for Zenobia trusts 
^er as a sister, I had almost said, reveres her as a divinity. 
tBeautiful it was to witness their freedom and their love. 
The gods avert every calamity from their heads! 

When we had in this manner, as I have said, a long time 
discoursed, Zenobia, at length, rising from her seat, said 
to me, ‘‘ Now do we owe you some fair return, noble Piso,, 
for the patience with which you have listened to our trea- 
sonable words. If it please you, acccompany us now to 
some other part of our palace, and it will be strange if we 
can not find something worthy of your regard. 

So saying, we bent our way in company, idly talking of 
such things as offered, to a remote part of the vast build- 
ing, passing through and lingering here and there in many 
a richly wrought hall and room, till, turning suddenly into 
a saloon of Egyptian device, where we heard the sound of 
voices, I found myself in the presence of Gracchus and 
lausta, Longinus and Zabdas, with a few others of the 
chief citizens of Palmyra. I need not say how delighted I 
was. It was a meeting never to be forgotten. But it was 
in the evenmg of this day, walking in the gardens of the 
palace between Julia and Fausta, that I banqueted upon 
the purest pleasure of my life. 


LETTER V. 

+ not but suppose, my Curtius, when you came 

to the end of my last letter, that I should soon write again 
and not leave you ignorant of the manner in which I 
passed the evening at the palace of Zenobia. Accordingly 
knowing that you would desire this, I had no sooner tied 
and sealed my epistle, than I sat down to give you those 
minute recollections of incident and of conyersation in 
which you and Lucilia both so much delight, and which 
indeed, in the present instance, are not unimportant in 
their bearing upon my future lot. But this I shall leaye 
to your own conjectures. A tempest of rain makes me a 
necessary prisoner io the house, but the pleasant duty of 


ZE^roBiA, 79 

writing to you spreads sunsliine on all within the room. 
I trust in the gods that you are all well. 

Of the banquet in that Egyptian hall, and its immediate 
attendant circumstances, I need not tell you. It was like 
other feasts of ceremony, where the niceties of form con- 
stantly obtrude themselves, and check too much the flow of 
conversation. Then too one^s mind is necesssarily dis- 
tracted, where the feast is sumptuous, by the rarity of the 
dishes, the richness of the ser\ice and the pomp and stir 
of the attendance. Never was it my fortune in Eome to 
recline at a table of more imperial splendor. Eor Lucilia^s 
sake I will just say, that the service was of solid gold, most 
elaborately carved, and covered with designs illustrative of 
points of the Egyptian annals. Our wine-cups were also 
of gold, enriched with precious stones; and for each kind 
of wine, a different cup, set with jewels, typical of the char- 
acter of the wine for which it was intended. These w'ere 
by the hand of Demetrius. It was in all respects a Roman 
meal, in its fashions and conduct, though the table was 
spread with many delicacies peculiar to the Orientals. 
The walls and ceilings of the room, and the carpets, in the 
colors of the most eminent Greek and Persian artists, 
scenes of the life and reign of the great Queen of Egypt, of 
whom Zenobia reckons herself a descendant. Cleopatra 
was aU around, above, and beneath. Music at intervals, 
as the repast drew toward a close, streamed in from in- 
visible performers, and added a last and crowning charm. 
The conversation was light and sportful, taking once or 
twice only, and accidentally, as it were, a political turn. 
These graceful Palmyrenes'act a winning part in all the 
high courtesies of life; and nothing, could be more perfect 
than their demeanor, free and frank, yet never forgetful 
of the presence of Zenobia, nor even of me, a representa- 
tive in some manner of the majesty of Rome. 

The moon, nearly at her full, was already shining 
bright in the heavens, when we left the tables, and walk- 
ing for a first time upon the cool pavements of the porticoes 
of the palace, then descended to the gardens, and separating 
in groups, moved away at will among their endless windings. 
Zenobia, as if desiring some private conference with her 
great teacher, left us in company with Longinus. It was 
my good and happy fortune to ‘find myself in the society 
of Julia and Eausta, with whom I directed my steps toward 


80 


ZENOBIA. 


th© remoter and more quiet parts of the garden — for nearer 
the palace there were still to be heard the sounds of merri- 
ment, and of the instruments furnishing a soft aiid deli- 
cious entertainment for such as chose to remain longer in 
the palace. Of the rest of the company, some like our- 
selves wandered among the labyrinthian walks of this vast 
pleasure-ground, while others, already weary, or satisfied 
with enjoyment, returned early to their homes. 

The evening, shall I say it, was worthy of the company 
now abroad to enjoy it. A gentle breeze just sv;ayed the 
mige leaves of the — to me— strange plants which overhuns- 
the paths, and came, as it here always seems to come^ 
laden with a sweetness which in Borne it never has, unless 
added by the hand of art. Dianas face shone never before 
so fair and bright, and her light, coming to us at frequent 
turns in our walk, through the spray of the numerous 
tountains, caused them to show like falling diamonds. A 
divine repose breathed over the whole scene. I am sure 
our souls were in harmony with it. 

'‘Princess,^^ said I, ‘^the gardens of Nero can have 
presented no scenes more beautiful then these. He who 
designed these avenues, and groups of flowers and trees, 
these frequent statues and fountains, bowers and mimic 
temples, and made them bear to each other these perfect 
proportions and relations, had no less knowledge me- 
thmks, of the true principles of taste, and of the" very 
secrets of beauty, than the great Longinus himself. The 
beauty is so rare, that it affects the mind almost like great- 
ness Itself. In truth, in perfect beauty there is always that 
which overawes. 

“ 1 can not say,” replied Julia, “ that the learned Greek 
was the architect and designer of these various forms of 
beauty. The credit, I believe, is rather due to Poriander 
a native Athenian, a man, it is universally conceded, of the 

*0 that 

the mind of Longinus presided over the whole. And he 

arrangements of these 
fon^ ™hb^-hprl^'® composing that great treatise, not 

uffV ^ u seen before you 

left Home. He is a man of universal powers. You have 
not failed to observe Ins grace, not less than his abilities 
tables. You have seen that he can 
play the part of one who would win the regards of two 


2EN0BIA. 


■81 

foolish girls, as well as that of first minister of a great 
Ivingdom, or that of the chief living representative and 
teacher of the philosophy of the immortal Plato/" 
le inyself/" I replied, ‘‘ I could hardly withdraw my- 
self from the simple admiration of his noble head and 
form, to attend, so as to judge of it, to what fell from his 
lil3S. It seems to me that if a sculptor of his own Greece 
sought for a model of the human figure, he could hope to 
find none so perfect as that of Longinus."" 

“ That maks it the foolisher and stranger,"" saidPausta, 
that he should toil at his toilet as he so manifestly does. 
Why can he not rely, for his power over both men and 
women, upon his genius, and his natural graces. It might 
be well enough for the Stagyrite to deck his little person 
ill fine clothes, and to cover his fingers with rings — for I 
believe there must be something in the outward appear- 
ance to strike the mere sensual eye, and please it, either 
natural or assumed, or else even philosophers might go 
unheeded. I doubt if upon my fingers there be more 
glowing rings than upon those of Longinus. To be sure, 
one must admit that his taste is exquisite."" 

“ In the manners and dress of Longinus,"" said I, as 
well as those of Aristotle, we behold, I think, dimply the 
power of custom. They Were both, in respect to such 
things, in a state of indifference — the true philosophical 
state. But what happened? Both became instructors and 
companions of princes, and the inmates of royal palaces. 
Their manners and costume were left, without a thought, 

I will dare to say, on their part, to conform themselves to 
what was around them. Would it not have been a more 
glaring piece of vanity, if in the palace of Philip, Aristotle 
had clothed himself in the garb of Diogenes — orx)f Lon- 
ginus, in the presence of the great Zenobia, had appeared 
in the sordid attire of Timon?"" 

“ I think so,"" said Julia. 

“ Your explanation is a very probable one,"" added 
Fausta, ‘‘ and had not occurred to me. It is true, the 
courts may have dressed them and not themselves. But 
never, I still must think, did a rich dress fall upon more 
willing shoulders than upon those of the Greek, always ex- 
cepting, Julia, Paul of Antioch."" 

Ah, Fausta,"" said Julia, ‘‘ you can not, do what you 
will, shake my faith in Paul. If I allow him vain, and 


82 


ZEKOBIA. 


luxurious, and haughty, I can still separate the advocate 
from the cause. You would not condemn the doctrine of 
Aristotle, on the ground that he wore rings. Nor can I 
altogether, nor in part, that of Paul, because he rolls 
through the city in a gilded chariot, with the attendance 
of a prince. I may blame or despise him — but not there- 
fore reject his teaching. That has a defense independent 
' of him. Policy, and necessity of time and place, have 
compelled him to much which his reason disapproves. 
This he has given me to believe, and has conjured me on 
this, as on all subjects, to yield my mind only to evidence, 
apart from all personal considerations. But I did not 
mean, to turn our conversation in this direction. Here, 
Piso, have we now arrived in our walk at my favorite re- 
treat. This is my bower for meditation, and frequently 
for reading too. Let us take this seat. Observe how 
through these openings we catch some of the prominent 
points of the city. There is the obelisk of Cleopatra; 
there the tower of Antonine; there the Egyptian Pyramid; 
and there a column going up in honor, of Aurelian; and in 
this direction, the whole outline of the palace. 

‘‘ Yet are we at the same time shut out from all the 
world/^ said I. ‘‘ Your hours must fly swiftly here. But 
are your musings always solitary ones.^^^ 

“ Oh, no— I am not so craving as that of my own so- 
ciety: sometimes I am joined by my mother, and not sel- 
dom by nay sweet Eausta here,"' said she, .at the same 
time affectionately drawing Fausta's arm within her own, 
and' clasping her hand; we do not agree, indeed, upon all 
the subjects which we discuss, but we still agree in our 
love." 

“Indeed we do, and may the gods make it perpetual; 
may death only divide us!" said Eausta with fervor. 

T r* Divinity who sits supreme above," said 

Julia, grant that over that, not even death shall have 
power. If anything makes existence valuable, it is love. 
If I should define my happness, I should say it in one 
word. Love. Without Zenobia, what should I be.^ I can 
not conceive of existence, deprived of her, or of her re- 
gard. Loving her, and Eausta, and Longinus, as I do 

not to forget Livia and the dear Faustula— and beloved of 
all in return— and my happiness scarcely seems to admit of 
addition." 


ZENOBIA. 


83 


With what pain/-’ said ^^does one contemplate the 
mere possibility that affections such as these are to last 
only for the few years which make up the sum of human 
lire. Must I believe, must you believe, that all this fair 
scene is to end forever at death? That you, bound to each 
other by so many ties-, are to be separated, and both of you 
to be divided from Zenobia, and all of us to fall into 
nothingness, silence, and darkness? Rather than that, 
would that the life we now enjoy might be immortal! 
Here are beautiful objects among which one might be will- 
V ioreyer. I am never weary of the moon and her 
soft light, nor of the balmy air, nor of the bright greens of 
the herbage, nor of the forms of plain and mountain, nor 
01 the human beings, infinite in the varieties of their 
character, who surround me wherever I go. Here now 
have I wandered far from my home, yet in what society and 
in what scenes do I find myself? The same heaven is 
above me, the same forms of vegetable life around me, 
and what is more, friends already dear as those I have left 
behind. In this very spot, were it but as an humble at- 
tendant upon the greatness of the Queen, could I be con- 
tent to dwell. 


Truly, I think you might, cried Fausta; ''having 
chosen for yourself so elysian a spot and filled it with such 
inhabitants, it is no great proof of a contented spirit that 
you should love to inhabit it. But how many such spots 
does the world present? and how many such inhabitants? 
The question I think is, would you be ready to accent the 
common lot of man as an immortal one? I can easily be- 
lieve that many, were they seated in these gardens, and 
waited on by attendant slaves, and their whole being 
made soft and tranquil, and exempt from care and fear, 
would say: 'Insure me this, and I ask no more." For 
myself, indeed, I must say it would not be so. I think not 
even the lot of Zenobia, enthroned as she is in the hearts of 
millions, nor yet thine, Julia, beloved not less than Zeno- 
bia, would satisfy me. I have now all that my utmost 
desires crave. Yet is there a part of me, 1 know not what 
it is, nor where it is, that is not full. I confess myself 
restless and unstatisfied. No object, no study, no pursuit, 
no friendship— forgive me, Julia,"" and she kissed her 
hand — " no friendship even, satisfies and fills me. "" 

I do not wonder,"" said Julia. 


84 


ZEJ^OBIA. 


“ But how much unhappiness is there spread over the 
earth/^ continued Fausta: I, and you, and Piso per- 
haps too, are in a state of dissatisfaction. And yet we are 
perched, as it were, upon the loftiest heights of existence. 
How must it be with those who are so far inferior to us as 
multitudes are in their means of happiness? From how 
many ills are we shielded, which rain down sharp-pointed, 
like the hail storms of wintei’, upon the undefended heads 
of the poor and low! They, Piso, would not, I think, pray 
that their lot might be immortal. 

‘^ Indeed I think not," said I. Yet, perhaps, their 

lot is not so much more miserable than yours, as the 
difference in outward condition might lead one to think. 
Eemember the slave and the poor do not feel as you would 
suddenly reduced to their state. The Arab enjoys his 
sleep upon his tent floor as well as you. Princess, beneath 
a canopy of woven gold, and his frugal meal of date or 
pulse tastes as sweet, as to you do dainties fetched from 
Rome, or fished from the Indian seas: and eating and 
sleeping make up much of life. Then the hearts of the 
great are corroded by cares and solicitudes which never visit 
the humble. Still, I do not deny their condition is not far 
less enviable than ours. The slave who may be lashed, 
and tormented, and killed at his master^s pleasure, drinks 
from a cup of which we never so much as taste. But over 
the whole of life, and throughout every condition of it, 
there are scattered evils and sorrows which pierce every 
hearty with pain. I look upon all conditions as in part evil. 
It is only by selecting circumstances, and excluding ills 
which are the lot of all, that I could ask to live forever, 
-even in the gardens of Zenobia.^^ 

“ I do not think we differ much then,^^ said Fausta, 
in what we think of human life. I hold the highest lot 
to be unsatisfying. You admit all are so, but have shown 
me that there is a nearer approach to an equality of hap- 
piness than I had supposed, though evil weighs upon all. 
How the mind longs and struggles to penetrate the mys- 
teries of its being! How imperfect and without aim does life 
seem! Everything beside man seems to reach its utmost 
perfection. Man alone appears a thing incomplete and 
faulty. 

And what,"" said I, would make him appear to you 


ZEJfOBIA. 


85 


I a. thing perfect and complete? What change should you 
1 suggest?^ ^ ® 

1 ^^ther maybe called an addition/^ re- 

plied Fausta, and ivhich, if I err not, all wise and good 
I men desire, the assurance of immortality. Nothing is 
I sweet; every cup is bitter; that which we are this moment 
1 drinking from, bitterest of all, without this. Of this I 
incessantly think and dream, and am still tossed in a sea 
I of doubt. 

I “ You have read Plato ?^" said I. 

7 Yes, truly,^^ she replied; but I found little there to 
satisfy me. I have enjoyed too the frquent conversation 
01 Longinus, and yet it is the same. Would that he were 
now here! The hour is serene, and the air which comes in 
so gently from the West, such as he loves."" 

As Fausta uttered these words, our eyes at the same mo- 
ment caught the forms of Zenobia and Longinus, as they 
merged from a walk very near, but made dark by over- 
hanging and embowering roses. We immediately ad- 
vanced toward them, and begged them to join us. 

'MVe are conversing,"" said Julia, ‘‘ upon such things as 
vou both love. Come and sit now with us, and let us 
know what 3^011 can say upon the same themes. "" 

“We will sit with you gladl}^,"" said the Queen; “ at 
least for myself I may say it, for I am sure that with you I 
shall find some other subjects discussed beside perplexing 
alfairs of state. When alone with Longinus — as but now 
— our topic is ever the same."" 

“ If the subject of our discourse, however, be ever the 
same,"" said the Greek, “ we have this satisfaction in re- 
flecting upon it, that it is one that in its nature is real and 
tangible. The well-being of a nation is not an undefined 
and shadowy topic, like so many of those which occuj^y 
the time and thoughts of even the wise. I too, however, 
shall gladly bear a part in whatever theme may engross 
the thoughts of J ulia, Fausta, and Piso. "" 

With these words, we returned to the seats we had left, 
which were not within the arbor of J ulia, but were the marble 
steps which led to it. There we placed ourselves, one above 
and one beside another, as happened — Zenobia sitting be- 
tween Fausta and Julia, I at the feet of Julia* and Longinus 
on the same step with myself, and next to Fausta. I could 
hardly believe that Zenobia was now the same person be- 


86 


ZEKOBIA. 


fore whom I had in the morning, with no little agitation, 
prostrated m*yself after the manner of the Persian cere- 
monial. She seemed rather like a friend whom I both loved 
and revered. The majesty of the Queen was gone; there 
remained only the native dignity of beauty, and goodness, 
and intellect, which, though it inspires reverence, yet is 
there nothing slavish in the feeling. It differs in degree 
only from that sentiment which we entertain toward the 
gods; it raises rather than depresses. 

‘‘We were speaking, said Julia, resuming the subject 
which had engaged us, “ of life and of man — how unsatis- 
factory life is, and how iny^erfect and unfinished as it 
were, man; and we agreed, I believe, in the opinion, that 
there can be no true happiness, without a certain assur- 
ance of immortality, and this we are without. 

“ I agree with you,^^ said Longinus, “ in all that you 
can have expressed concerning the unsatisfactoriness of life 
regarded as a finite existence, and concerning the want of 
harmony there is between man and the other works of 
God, if he is mortal; and in this also, that without the as- 
surance of immortality, there can, to the thinking mind, be 
no true felicity. I only wonder that on the last point 
there should exist in the mind of any one of you doubts so 
serious as to give you much disturbance. I can not, in- 
deed, feel so secure of a future and then unending exist- 
ence, as I am sure that I live now. What I am now I 
know; concerning the future, I can only believe, and belief 
can never possess the certainty of knowledge. Still, of a 
future life I entertain no doubts that distress me. My ' 
belief in it is as clear and strong as I can well conceive be- 
lief in things invisible and unexperienced to be. It is such 
as makes me happy in any thought or prospect of death. ' 
Without it, and life would appear to me like nothing more 
to be esteemed than a short, and often troubled or terrific 
dream. 

“ So I confess it seems to me,’^ said Fausta. “ How 
should I bless the gods, if upon my mind there could rest | 
a conviction of immortality strong like yours! The very 1 
certainty with which you speak, seems through the power ' 
of sympathy^ to have scattered some of my doubts. But, j 
alas! they will soon return.'’" 

■“ In what you have now said,"" replied Longinus, “ and 
in the feeling you have expressed on this point, do I found 


ZENOBIA. 


87 


one of the strongest arguments for the immortality of the 
soul/^ 


i '‘I do not comprehend you/" said Fausta. 

‘‘Do you not^ Fausta/" asked Longinus, “intensely 
desire a life after death?"" ^ 

' “ I do indeed. I have just expressed it."" 

‘‘ And do not you too, Zenobia, and Piso, and Julia?"" 

’ ^ “ Surely, and yrith intensity,"" we answered; “ the ques- 

‘ tion need scarce be asked."" 

“I believe you,"" resumed Longinus. “You all ear- 
I nestly desire an immortal life — ^you perpetually dwell upon 
the thought of it, and long for it. Is it not so with all 
who i*eflect at all upon themselves? Are there any such, 
have there ever been any, who have not been possessed by 
the same thoughts and desires, and who, having been 
greatly comforted and supported by them during life, have 
not at death relied upon them, and looked with some degree 
of confidence toward a coming forth again frojn death? 
]^ow I think it is far more reasonable to believe in another 
life, than in the delusiveness of these expectations. For I 
can not suppose' that this universal expectation will be dis- 
I appointed, without believing in the wickedness, nay, the 
I infinite malignity, of the Supreme Ruler, which my whole 
i nature utterly refuses to do. For what more cruel, than 
i to create this earnest and universal longing, and not 
gratify it? Does it not seem so?"" 

We all admitted it. 


“ This instinctive desire,"" continued Longinus, “I can 
not but regard as being implanted by the Being who cre- 
ated us. It can proceed from no other. It is an instinct, 
that is, a suggestion or inspiration of God. If it could be 
shown to be a consequence of education, we might refer it 
for its origin to ingenious philosophers. But it exists 
where the light of philosophy has never shone. There have 
been none, of whom history has preserved even obscurest 
traditions, who have wanted this instinct. It is then the 
very inspiration of the Divinity, and will not be disap- 
pointed. I trust much to these tendencies of our nature. 
This is the best ground for our belief of a God. The argu- 
ments of the schools have never succeeded in establishing 
the truth, even to the conviction of a philosophic mind, 
much less a common one. Yet the truth is universally 
admitted. God, I think, has provided for so important an 


88 


ZEKOBIA. 


article of faith in the structure of our minds. He has not 
left it to chance or special Revelation. So, too, the deter- 
minations of the mind concerning virtue and vice, right 
and wrong, being for the most part so accordant through- 
out the whole race — these also I hold to be instinctive.'’^ 

“ I can think of nothing,'’^ said Fausta, ‘‘ to urg-e against 
your argument. It adds some strength, I can not but con- 
fess, to what belief I had before. I trust you have yet 
more that you can impart. Do not fear that we shall be 
dull listeners.’’^ 

I sit here a willing and patient learner,'’'’ said Zeno- 
bia^ “ of any one who will pour new light into my mind. 
Go on, Longinus.'’^ 

To such a school,'” said he, ‘‘how can I refuse to 
speak? Let me ask you then, if you have never been per- 
plexed by the evils of life, sucli as either you have your- 
selves experienced, or such as you have witnessed?” 

“ I hafe, indeed,” said Fausta, “ and have deeply de- 
plored them. But how are they connected with a future 
existence?” 

“ Thus,"" replied Longinus. “ As in the last case, the 
benevolence of the Supreme God can not be sustained 
without the admission of the reality of a future life. JS’ot 
only that, but it seems to me direct proof may be adduced 
from the existence and universality of these evils to estab- 
lish the blackest malignity. So that to me, belief in a fut- 
ure existence is in proportion to the difficulty of .iidmitting 
the idea of Divine malignity, and it can not, therefore, be 
much stronger than it is."" 

“ How can you make that clear to us?’" said Fausta; 

“ I should truly rejoice if out of the evils which so darken 
the earth, anything good or beautiful could be drawn."" 

“ As this dark mold,""* rejoined the philosopher, “ sends ^ 
upward, and out of its very heart, this rare Persian rose, 
so does hope grow out of evil, and the darker the evil the 
brighter the hope, as from a richer and fouler soil comes ' 
the more vigorous plant and larger flower. Take a par- \ 
ticular evil, and consider it. You remember the sad tale i 
concerning the ' Christian Probus, which Piso, in recount- ! 
ing the incidents of his journey from Rome to Palmyra, re- 1 
lated to us while seated at ’the tables?"" 

Indeed, I did not hear it,"" said Zenobia; “so that Piso 
must, if he will, repeat it."" 


ZE'N'OBIA. 


89 

‘ ‘‘We shall willingly hear it again/^ said Julia and 
■ Fausta. 

And I then related it again. 

“ Now do yon wonder/" resumed Longinus, when I had 
tinished, that Probus, when, one after another, four 
children were ravished from his arms by death, and then, 

I as if to crown his lot with evil his wife followed them, and 
lie was left alone in the world, bereaved of every object to 
which his heart was most fondly attached, do you wonder, 

' I say, that he turned to the heavens and cursed the gods^ 
i And can you justify the gods so tLat they shall not be 
chargeable with blackest malignity, if there be no future 
and immortal state? What is it to bind so the heart of a 
parent to a child, to give that affection a force and a ten- 
derness which belong to no. other tie, so that anxieties for 
its life and welfare, and cares and sacrifices for its good, 
constitute the rery existence of the parent, what is it to 
foster by so many contrivances this love, and then forever 
disappoint and^^last it, but malignity? Yet this work is 
done every hou», and in almost every heart; if for children 
I we lament not, yet we do for others as dear."" 

; Tears to the memory of Odenatus fell fast from the eyes 
j of Zenobia. 

I ^ “ Are we not then,"" continued Longinus, without paus- 
I ing — “ are we not then presented with this alternative, 
either the Supreme God is a malignant being, whose iileas- 
iire it is to torment, or, there is an immortal state, where 
we shall meet again with those, who, for inscrutable pur- 
poses, have been torn from our arms here below? And 
who can hesitate in which to rest? The belief, therefore, 
in a future life ought to be in proportion to the difficulty 
of admitting the idea of Divine malignity. And this idea 
is so repulsive — so impossible to be entertained for one mo- 
ment — that the other can not, it seems to me, rest upon a 
firmer foundation."" 

“ Every word you sjjeak,"" said Zenobia, “ yields pleas- 
ure and instruction. It delights me, even when thickest 
beset by the cares of state, to j^ause and contemplate for a 
moment the prospects of futurity. It diffuses a divine 
calm throughout the soul. You have given me new food 
for my thoughts."" 

“ I will add,"" said Longinus, “ only one thing to what I 
have said, and that is, concerning the incompleteness of 


90 


ZENOBIA. 


man, as a divine work, and which has been mentioned by 
Pausta. Is not this an argument for a future life? Other 
things and beings are finished and complete — man only is 
left, as it were, half made up. A tree grows and bears 
fruit, and the end of its creation is answered. A complete 
circle is run. It is the same with the animals. Ho one 
expects more from a lion or a horse than is found in both. 
But with man it is not so. In no period of history, and 
among no people, has it been satisfactorily determined 
what man is, or what are the limits of his capacity and be- 
ing. He is full of contradictions, and of incomprehensible 
organization, if he is considered only in relation to this 
world. For while every other affection finds and rests in 
its appropriate object, which fully satisfies and fills it, the 
desire of unlimited improvement and of endless life — the 
strongest and best-defined of any of the desires— this alone 
is answered by no corresponding object; which is not differ- 
ent from what it would be, if the gods should create a race 
like ours, having the same craving and necessity for food 
and drink, yet never provide for them the one nor the 
other, but leave them all to die of hunger. IJnless there is 
a future life, we all die of a worse hunger. IJnless there is 
a future life, man is a monster in creation — compared with 
other things, an abortion—and in himself, and compared 
with himself, an enigma— a riddle — which no human wit 
has ever solved, nor can ever hope to solve. 

This seems unanswerable,"^ said Fausta; yet is it no 
objection to all such arguments which we ourselves con- 
struct, that the thing they establish is too great and good • 
almost to be believed, without some divine warrant? It ; 
does to me appear almost or quite presumptuous to think, ^ 
that for me there is by the gods prepared a world of never- ^ 
fading light, and a never-ending joy."" ^ 

‘‘ When,"" replied the Greek, we look at the lower 5 
forms of man which fall under our observation, I confess j 
that the objection which you urge strikes me with some s 
force. But when I think that it is for beings like you to | 
whom I speak, for whom another and fairer world is to be i 
prepared, it loses again much of its force. And when I I 
think of the great and good of other times, of Homer and i 
Hesiod, of Phidias and Praxiteles, of Socrates and Plato, 
and of what the mind of man has in them, and in others as 
great and good, accomplished, the objection which you urge 


ZEiq-OBIA. 


91 

loses all its force. I see and feel that man has been made 
not altogether unworthy of a longer life and a happier lot 
I than earth affords. And in regard to the ignorant, the 
low, and the almost or quite savage^ we are to consider 
that the same powers and affections are in them as in us, 
and that their inferiority to us is not’ intrinsic and essential, 
but as it were accidental. The difference between the 
soul of Plato and yonder Ethiopian slave is not in any orig- 
inal faculty or power; the slave here equals the philosopher; 
but in this, that the faculties and powers of Plato were 
strengthened, and nurtured, and polished, by the hand of 
education, and the happy influences of a more civilized 
community, all which to the slave has been wanting. He 
is a diamond just as it comes from the mine; Plato like 
that one set in gold, which sparkles with the radiance of a 
star, Fausta, upon your finger. But, surely, the glory of 
the diamond is, that it is a diamond; not that Demetrius 
has polished and set it. Man has within him so much of 
the God, that I do not wonder he has been so often deified. 
The great and excellent among men, therefore, I think 
I not unworthy of immortality, for what they are; the hum- 
I ble and the bad, for what they may so easily become, and 
might have been, under circumstances but slightly altered. 

I “lean not,^^ said Julia, as Longinus closed, “ deny 
I strength and plausibility to your arguments, but I can not 
admit that they satisfy me. After the most elaborate rea- 
soning, I am still left in darkness. No power nor wit of 
man has ever wholly scattered the mists which rest upon 
life and death. I confess, with Socrates, that I want a 
promise or a revelation to enable me to take the voyage of 
life in a spirit of cheerfulness, and without the fear of fatal 
shipwreck. If your reasonings, Longinus, were only ac- 
companied with authority more than that of man, if I 
could only believe that the Divinity inspired you, I could 
then rest contented and happy. One word authoritatively 
declaring man^s immortality, a word which by infallible 
token I could know to be a word from the Supreme, would 
to me be worth infinitely more than all the conjectures, 
hopes, and reasonings of all the philosophers. I fully 
agree with you, that the instincts of our nature all point 
both to a God and to immortality. But the heart longs 
for something more sure and clear, at least my woman^s 
heart does. It may be that it is the woman within me 


92 


ZENOBIA. 


which prompts the feeling — but I wish to lean upon au- 
thority in this great matter. I wish to repose calmly in a 
Divine assurance. 

In that. Princess/^ I could not help saying, ‘‘ I am a 
woman too. I have long since lost all that regard for the 

' gods in which I was so carefully nourished. I despise the 
popular superstitions. Yet is there nothing which I have 

- found as yet to supply their place. I have searched the 
writings of Plato, of Cicero, of Seneca, in vain. I find 
there, indeed, wisdom, and learning, and sagacity, almost 
more than human. But I find nothing which can be dig- 
nified by the name of religion. Their systems of morals 
are admirable, and sufficient perhaps to enable one to live 
a happy or fortunate life. But concerning the soul of man, 
and its destiny, they are dumb, or their words, if they 
utter any, are but the dark speeches of an oracle. 

- '‘lam happy that I am not alone, said Julia; " and I 
can not but think that many, very many are with me. I 
am sure that what most persons, perhaps, who think and 
feel upon these subjects, want, is some divine promise or 
revelation. Common minds, Longinus, can not appreciate 
the subtlety of your reasonings, much less those of the 
Phaedo. And, besides, the cares and labors of life do not 
allow time to engage in such inquiries, even if we supposed 
all men to have capacity for them. Is it not necessary 
that truths relating to the soul and futurity should rest 
upon authority, if any or many beside philosophers are to 
embrace thern? And surely, if the poor and ignorant are 
immortal, it is as needful for them, as for us, to know it. 

It is, I conceive, on this account, that the religion of the 
Christians has spread so rapidly. It meets our nature. It 
supplies authority. It professes to bring annunoiations 
from Heaven of man^s immortality.^^ 

" It is for that reason,'’-’ replied Longinus, “ I can not ' 
esteem it. The very term revelation offends. The right 
application of reason effects all, it seems to me, that what 
IS called revelation can. It perfectly satisfies the philos- 
opher, and as for common minds, instinct is an equallv 
sufficient guide and light.'’" 

^^"I can not but judge you, Longinus,"" said Julia, 

wanting in a true fellow-feeling for your kind, notwith- 1 
standing all you have said concerning the nature and | 
powers of man. How is it that you can desire that man- I 


ZEN OBI A. 


93 

I kind should remain any longer under the dominion of the 
I same gross and pernicious errors that have for so many 
j ages oppressed them! Only consider the horrors of an 
idolatrous religion in Egypt and Assyria, in Greece and in 
Kome — and do you not desire their extermination? — and 
what prospect of this can there be, but through the plain 
authoritative language of a revelation?"" 

‘‘ I certainly desire with you,"" replied Longinus, “ the 
extermination of error, and the overthrow of horrible and 
corrupting superstitions; and of nothing am I more sure 
than that the reason of man, in unfolding and constantly 
improving ages, will effect it. A plain voice from Heaven, 
announcing important truth, might perhaps hasten the 
; work. But this voice, as thought to be heard in Christi- 
I anity, is not a plain voice, nor clearly kno^vn to be a voice 
I from Heaven. Here is the Bishop of Antioch set upon by 
j the Bishops of Alexandria and Oesarea, and many others, 

I as I learn, who accuse him of wrongly receiving and falsely 
I teaching the doctrines of Christ; and for two hundred 
I years has there prevailed the like uncertainty about the 
' essence of the religion. "" » 

‘‘I look not with much hope to Christianity,"" said 
! Fausta. Yet I must first inform myself more exactly 
i concerning it, before I judge."" 

I “ That is spoken like Fausta,"" said Julia; “ and it is 
I much for you to say who dislike so heartily that Paul, 
whom I am constantly wishing you to hear."" 

Whenever he shall lay aside a little of his pomp, I 
may be willing to listen,"" replied Fausta; “ but I could ill 
brook a discourse upon immortality from one whose soul 
seems so wedded to time."" 

‘‘ Well,"" said Julia, ‘‘but let us not be drawn away 
from our subject. I admit that there are disputes among 
the Christians, but, like the disputes among philosophers, 
they are about secondary matters. There is no dispute 
concerning the great and chiefly interesting part of the re- 
ligion — its revelation of a future life. Christians have 
never divided here, nor on another great point, that Christ, 
the founder of the religion, was a true messenger from 
God. The voice of Christianity on both these points is a 
clear one. Thus, I think, every one will judge, who, as I 
have done, will read the writings in which the religion is 
found. And I am persuaded it is because it is so plain a 


94 


ZEKOBIA. 


voice here, that it is bidding fair to supersede every other 
form of religion. And that it is a voice from God, is, it 
seems to me, made out with as much clearness as we could 
look for. That Christ, the author of this religion, was a 
messenger from God, was shown by his miracles. How 
could it be shown otherwise? I can conceive of no other 
way in which so satisfying proof could be given of the 
agency and authority of God. And certainly there is evi- 
dence enough, if history is to be believed, that he wrought 
many and stupendous miracles. 

What is a miracle?^^ asked Longinus. 

‘‘ It is that/^ replied Julia, “ which being done or said, 
furnishes satisfactory proof of the present interposing 
power of God. A man who, by a word spoken, can heal 
sick persons, and raise to life dead ones, can be no other 
than a messenger of .God 

‘‘ Why not of some other superior being — perhaps a bad 
ohe?^^ 

The character, teaching, objects, acts of Christ, make 
it unlikely, if not impossible, that he should have been 
sent by any bad intelligence. And that he came not only 
from a good being, but from God, we may believe on his 
own word. 

‘‘ His goodness may have been all assumed. The whole 
may be a deception. 

‘‘ Men do not sacrifice their lives merely to deceive, to 
play a child's game before the world. Christ died to show 
his attachment to his cause, and with him innumerable 
others. Would they have done this merely to impose upon j 
mankind? And for what purpose? — ^for that of teaching a \ 
religion inculcating the loftiest virtue! But I do not set i 
myself forward as a champion of this new religion," con- I 
tinued Julia, plainly disturbed lest she might have seemed I 
too earnest. ‘ W ould that you, Longinus, could be per- I 

suaded to search into its claims. If you would but read 1 
the books written by the founders of it, I am sure you 1 
would say this at least, that such books were never written A 
before, nor such a character portrayed as that of Jesus 
Christ. You who profess yourself charmed with the poe- : 
try of the Jewish Scriptures, and the grandeur of the sen- 
timents expressed in them, would not be less impressed by 
the gentler majesty, the mild, sweet dignity of the person : 
and doctrine of Christ. And if the reasonings of Socrates j 


ZEKOBIA. 


95 


1 

I 

i 

j 


I 


I 


power to convince you of the immor- 
tality ot the soul, how must you be moved by the simple 
announcements of the truth by the Nazarene, and above all 
by his resurrection from the dead! Christianity boasts al- 
ready powerful advocates, but I wish it could say that its 
claims had been examined by the great 

The soft yet earnest, eloquent tones of Julians voice fell 
upon pleased and willing ears. The countenance of the 
Ureek glowed with a generous satisfaction, as he listened to 
the reasoning of his fair pupil, poured forth in that noble 
togue it had been his task and his happiness to -teach her. 
Evidently desirous, however, not to prolong the conversa- 
tion, he addressed himself to the Queen: 

‘‘You are pleased,"" said he, “you must be, with the 
aptness of my scholar. Julia has not studied dialectics in 
vain. Before I can feel myself able to contend with her, 
I must study the books she has commended so — from 
which, I must acknowledge, I have been repelled by a prej- 
udice, I believe, rather than anything else, or more worthy 
— and then, perhaps, I may agree in opinion with her. "" 

In truth,"" said Zenobia, “ Julia is almost or quite a 
Christian. I knew not, daugliter, that Paul had made 
such progress in his work. But all have my full consent 
to cherish such form of religious faith as most approves it- 
self to their own minds. I find my highest satisfaction in 
Moses and the prophets. Happy shall I be if Julia find as 
much, or more, in Christ and his apostles. Sure am I, 
there is no beneficent power nor charm in the religions of 
Greece, or Rome, or Persia, or Egypt, to cause any of us 
to adhere to them, though our very infancy were instructed 
in their doctrines."" 

“ It is not, I assure you,"" said Julia, “ to Paul of Anti- 
och that I owe such faith in Christ as I have, but to the 
Christian books themselves; or if to any human authority 
besides, to St. Thomas, the old hermit of the mountain, to 
whom I would that every one should resort who would draw 
near to the purest living fountain of Christian knowledge."" 

“I trust,"" said I, “ that at some future time I may, 
with your guidance, or through your influence, gain ad- 
mittance to this aged professor of the Christian faith. I 
confess myself now, since what I have heard, a seeker after 
Christian knowledge. " " 


96 


ZENOBIA. 


- Gladly shall I take you there/^ replied the princess, 
and gladly will St. Thomas’ receive you/’ 

We now at the same time rose from our seats. Zenobia, 
taking the hand of Fausta, walked toward the palace; 
Longinus, with folded arms, and as if absorbed by the 
thoughts which were passing through his mind, began to 
pace to and fro beneath the thick shadows of a group of 
orange-trees. I was left with Julia. 

Princess,^^ said I, “ it. is yet early, and the beauty of 
the evening makes it wrong to shut ourselves up from the 
sight of so fair a scene; shall we follow further some of 
these inviting paths ^ 

Nothing can be more pleasant, said she; ‘‘ these are 
my favorite . haunts, and I never am weary of them, and 
never did they seem to me to wear a more lovely aspect 
than now. Let me be your guide, and I will lead you by a 
winding way to Zenobia^s Temple, as we call it, for the 
reason that it is her chosen retreat, as the arbor which we 
have now left is mine. 

So we began to walk toward the spot of which she spoke. 
We were for some time silent. At length the princess 
said, ‘‘ Roman, you have now seen Zenobia both as a queen 
and a woman. Has fame done her more than justice?^^ 

‘‘ Great as her reputation is in Rome,^'’ I replied, “ fame 
has not, to my ear at least, brought anything that more 
than distantly approaches a true and faithful picture of 
her. We have heard much indeed — and yet not enough — 
of her surpassing beauty, of the vigor of her understand- 
ing, of her vast acquirements in the Greek learning, of 
the wisdom and energy of her conduct as a sovereign 
queen, of her skill in the chase, of her bravery and martial 
bearing, when, at the head of her troops, she leads them to 
the charge. But of this union of feminine loveliness wdth 
so much of masculine power, of this womanly grace, of 
this winning condescension — so that it loses all the air of 
condescension — to those even much beneath her in every 
human accomplishment as well as in rank, of this I had 
heard nothing, and for this I was not prepared. When, in 
the morning, I first saw her seated in all the pride of ori- 
ental state, and found myself prostrate at her feet, it was 
only Zenobia that I saw, and I saw what I expected. But 
no sooner had she spoken, especially no sooner had she 
cast that look upon you, princess, when you had said a few 


ZEKOBIA. 


97 

w-orcis ill reply to me, than I saw not Zenobia only, but the 
' woman and the mother. . A veil was suddenly lifted, and a 
new being stood before me. It seemed to m^ that moment, 
that I knew her better than I know myself. I am sure 
i that I know her. Her countenance all living with emotion, 
changing and working with every thought of her mind and 
I every feeling of her heart, reveals her with the truth of a 
i mao-ic mirror. She is not known at Rome."" 

am sorry for it,"" said Julia; if they only knew 
her, they could never do her harm. You, Piso, may per- 
haps do much for her. I perceive, already, that she highly 
regards you, and values your ojhnion. If you are willing 
to do us such service, if you feel interest enough in our 
fate, speak to her, I pray you, with plainness, all that you 
think. Withhold nothing. Fear not to utter what you 
may deem to be most unpalatable truths. She is candid 
and generous as she is ambitious. She will at least hear 
and weigh whatever you may advance. God grant, that 
truth may reach her mind, and reaching, sway it!"" 

‘‘ I can now think of no higher satisfaction,"" I replied, 

I than to do all I may, as a Roman, in your service. I 
i love your nation; and as a Roman and a man, I desire its 
I welfare and permanent glory. Its existence is necessary to 
I Rome; its ruin or decay must be, viewed aright, but so 
I much injury to her most vital interests. Strange, how 
I strange, that Zenobia, formed by the gods to draw her hap- 
2uuess from sources so much nobler than any which ambi- 
! tion can supply, should turn from them, and seek for it in 
I the same shallow pool with Alexander, and Aurelian, and 
! the hireling soldier of fortune!"" 

Strange indeed,"" said Julia, “ that she who can enter 
with Longinus into the deepest mysteries of philosophy, 
and whose mind is stored with all the learning of the 
schools, should still love the pomp of power better than 
all. And Fausta is but her second self. Fausta worships 
Zenobia, and Zenobia is encouraged in her opinions by the 
kindred sentiments of that bright spirit. All the influ- 
ence, Piso, which you can exert over Fausta will reach 
Zenobia. "" 

It seems presumptuous, princess,"" said I, ‘‘to seek to 
draw the minds of two such beings as Zenobia and Fausta 
to our bent. Yet surely they are in the wrong."" 

“ It is something,"" quickly added the princess, “ tliat 


98 


ZENOEIA. 


Longinus is of our mind; but then again Zabdas and Grac- 
chus are a host on the other part. And all the power and 
pride of Paln^yra are with them tOo. But change Zenobia, 
and we change all. Oh, how weary am I of ambition, and 
how sick of greatness! Willingly would I exchange all 
this for an Arab's tent, or a herm.it's cell. " 

‘‘ The gods grant that may never be," I replied; “ but 
that you, princess, may yet live to sit upon the throne of 
Zenobia." 

“I say it with sincerity, Roman — that pra}^ finds no 
echo in my bosom. I have seen enough of power, and of 
the honors that wait upon it. And when I say this, hav- 
ing had before my eyes this beautiful vision of Zenobia 
reigning over subjects as a mother would reign over her 
family, dealing justly with all, and living but to make 1 
others happy— you must believe me. I seek and love a i 
calmer, humbler lot. This, Piso, is the temple of Zenobia. 
Let us enter. " 

We approached and entered. It was , a small building, 
after the model of the Temple of Vesta at Tibur, construct- 
ed of the most beautiful marbles, and adorned with stat- 
ues. Within were the seats on which the Queen was ac- 
customed to recline, and an ample table, covered with her 
favorite authors, and the materials of writing. 

It is here, said Julia, “ that, seated with my mother, 
we listen to the eloquence of Longinus, while he unfolds ; 
the beauties of the Greek or Roman learning; or, together 
with him, read the most famous works of former ages. 
With Homer, Thucydides, and Sophocles for our compan- 
ions, we have here passed precious hours and days, and i 
have the while happily forgotten the heavy burden of a 
nations cares. I have forgotten them; not so Zenobia. ’i 
I hey are her life, and from all we have read would she i 
ever draw somewhat that should be of service to her in the i 
duties of her great office. " !, 

Returning to the surrounding portico, we stood and for ' ‘ 
a time enjoyed in silence the calm beauty of the scene. ■ i 

As we stood thus— Julia gazing upon the objects around i 
thought, must I say it? seeing scarce any- .-I 
thing but her, and thinking only of her— as we stood thus, J 
shouts of merry laughter came to us, borne upon the 8 
breeze, and roused us from our reverie. M 

These sounds," said I, “ can not come from the j^al- ■ 


ZEKOBIA. 


99 

1 unless these winding walks have deceived 

i „ y are the voices, said Julia, ‘‘ I am almost sure, 

I ot Livia and Faustula, and the young C^sars. They seem 
j to be engaged in some sport near the palace. Shall we 
! join them?'^ 

I ‘‘ Let us do so,^^ said 1. 

j So we moved toward that (Quarter of the gardens whence 
I the sounds proceeded. A high wall at length separated us 
from those whom we sought. But reaching a gate, we 
passed through and entered upon a iawn covered as it 
seemed with children, slaves, and the various inmates of 
the palace. Here, mingled among the motley company, 
we at once perceived the Queen, and Longinus and Fausta, 
together with many of those whom we had sat with at the 
banquet. The center of attraction, and the cause of the 
loud shouts of laughter which continually arose, was a 
small white elephant with which the young princes and 
princesses were amusing themselves. He had evidently 
! been trained to the part he had to perform, for nothing 
: could be more expert than the manner in which he went 
: through his various tricks. Sometimes he chased them 
; and pretended difficulty in overtaking them; then he would 
i atfect to stumble, and so fall and roll upon the ground; 
then springing quickly upon his feet, he would surprise 
some one or other lurking near him, and seizing him with 
his trunk would hold him fast, or first whirling him in the 
air, then seat him upon his back, and march gravely round 
the lawn, the rest following and shouting; then releasing 
his prisoner, he would lay himself upon the ground, while 
all together would fearlessly climb upon his back, till it 
[ was covered, when he would either suddenly shake his huge 
I body, so that one after another they rolled off, or he would 
: attempt to rise slowly upon his legs, in doing which, nearly 
all would slip from off his slanting back, and only two or 
three succeed iff keeping their places. And other sportive 
tricks, more than it would be worth while for me to re- 
count, did he perform for the amusement of his play-fel- 
; lows. And beautiful was it to see the carefulness with 
I which he trod and moved, lest any harm might come to 
‘ those children. His especial favorite was the little fiaxen- 
■ haired Faustula. He was never weary of caressing her, 

I taking her on his trunk, and bearing her about, and when 


100 


ZENOBIA. 


he set her down, would wait to see that she was fairly on 
her feet and safe, before he would return to his gambols. 
Her voice calling out, ‘‘ Sapor, Sapor, was sure to bring 
him to her, when, what with words and signs, he soon 
comprehended what it was she wanted. I myself came in 
unwittingly for a share of the sport. For, as Faustula 
came bounding by me^ I did as those are so apt to do who 
know little of children — I suddenly extended my arms and - 
caught her. She, finding herself seized and in the arms of 
one she knew not, thought, as children will think, that 
she was already borne a thousand leagues from her home, 
and screamed; whereupon at the instant, I felt myself 
taken round the legs by a force greater than that of a man, 
and which drew them together with such violence that in- 
stinctively I dropped the child, and at the same time cried - 
out with pain. Julia, standing next me, incontinently 
slapped the trunk of the elephant — for it was that twisted 
round me-^with her hand, at which, leaving me, he wound 
it lightly round the waist of the princess, and held her his 
close prisoner. Great laughter from the children and the ' 
slaves testified their joy at seeing their elders, equally with 
themselves, in the power of the elephant. Milo being of 
the number, and in his foolish exhilaration and sportive 
approbation of Sapor^s feats having gone up to him and 
patted him on his side, the beast, receiving as an affront 
that plebeian salutation, quickly turned upon him, and 
taking him by one of his feet, held him in that displeasing 
manner — his head hanging down — and paraded leisurely 
round the green, Milo making the while hideous outcry, 
and the whole company, especially the slaves and menials, 
filling the air with screams of laughter. At length Vaba- 
lathus, thinking that Milo might be injured, called out to 
Sapor, who thereupon released him, and he, rising and ad- « 
justing his dress, was heard to affirm that it had never i. 
happened so while he was in the service of Gallienus. 

These things for the little Gallus. . | 

Satisfied now with the amusements of the evening and ? 
the pleasures of the day, we parted from one another, filled | 
with quite different sentiments from those which had pos- & 
sessed us in the morning. Do members of this great hu- a 
man family ever meet each other in social converse, and m 
freely open their hearts, without a new and better strength M 
being given to the bonds which hold in their embrace the I 


ZEN-OBIA. 


101 


peace and happiness of society? To love each other, I 
tlhnk we chiehy need but to know each other. Ignorance 
; begets suspicion, suspicion dislike or hatred, and so we live 
as strangers and enemies, when knowledge would have led 
15 to intimacy and friendship. Farewell! 


I LETTER VI. 

I Many days have passed, my Curtius, since I last wrote^ 
j each bringing its own pleasures, and leaving its ineffacea- 
I ble impressions upon the soul. But though all have been 
! in many things delightful, none has equaled that day and 
i evening at the palace of the Queen. I have now mingled 
' largely with the best society of Palmyra. The doors of the 
noble and the rich have been cmened to me with a liberal 
hospitality. As the friend of Gracchus and Fausta~and 
I now I may add I believe without presumption — of Zenobia 
! also, of J ulia, and Longinus, I have been received with at- 
I tentions, of which Aurelian himself might with reason have 
been proud. More and more do I love this people, more 
' and more fervently do I beg of the Being or Beings who 
rule over the affairs of men, to interpose and defend them 
from any threatening danger. I grieve that the rumors', 
still reaching us from Rome tend so much, to confirm the 
■ belief that our emperor is making preparations for an east- 
:: ern expedition. Yet I can not bring myself to think that 
he aims at Zenobia. If it were so, would there be first no 
I communication with the Queen? Is it like Aurelian to 
plan and move so secretly? And against a woman too? — 
and that woman Zenobia? Fll not believe it. Your let- 
ters would not be what they are, if there were any real pur- 
pose like that which is attributed to Aurelian. But time 
will make its revelations. Meanwhile, let me tell you where 
I now am, and what pleasures I am enjoying. This will 
be written under various dates. 

I write to you from what is called the Queen •’s Mountain 
Palace, being her summer residence — occasionally — either 
to avoid the greater heats of the city, or that she may di- 
vert herself with athletic sports or hunting, of which she 
is excessively fond, and in which she has few equals of her 
I own or even of our sex. Roman women of the present day 
! would be amazed, perhaps shocked, to be told what the 
sports and exercises are in which this great eastern Queen 


102 


ZENOBIA. 


finds her pleasures. She is not more exalted above the 
women of Rome by genius, and the severer studies of the 
closet, than she is, in my judgment, by the manner and 
fashion of her recreations. Let not the dear Lucilia be 
offended. Were she here with me, her fair and generous 
mind would rest, I am sure, after due comparisons, in the 
very same conclusions. Fausta is in these respects too, as 
in others, but her second self. There is not a feat of 
horsemanship or archery, nor an enterprise in the chase, 
but she will dare all and do all that is dared or done by 
Zenobia; not in the spirit of imitation or even rivalry, but 
from the native impulses of a soul that reaches at all things 
great and difficult. And even J ulia, that being who seems 
too ethereal for earth, and as if by some strange chance she 
were misplaced, being here, even Julia has been trained in 
the same school, and, as I shall show you, can join in the 
chase, and draw the bow, with scarcely less of skill and 
vigor — with no less courage — than either her mother or 
Fausta. Although I have now seen it, I still can hardly * 
associate such excess of beauty — a beauty both of form and 
face so truly belonging to this soft, Syrian clime — with a 
strength and dexterity at every exercise that might put to 
shame many a Rom^n who wears both a beard and the 
manly gown. But this, I need not say, is not after Julia’s 
heart. She loves more the gentler encounters of social in- 
tercourse, where wit, and sense, and the affections, have 
their full play, and the god-like chat is within us asserts its 
supremacy. 

But my purpose now is to tell you how and why it is I 
am here, and describe to you as well as I can this new Ely- 
sium; and how it is the happy spirits, whom the gods have ' 
permitted to dwell here, pass their hours? ^ 

I am here by the invitation of the Queen. A few days I 
after that which we had so highly enjoyed at the palace, | 
she expressed her desire that Gracchus, Fausta, and my- i 
self would accompany her, with others of her selcet friends, I 
to her retreat among the hills, there to indulge in perfect ^ 
repose, or engage in the rural sports of the place, according | 
to our pleasure. I was not slow, neither were Gracchus | 
and Fausta, to accept so agreeable an invitation I 1 
feared,” said Fausta, ‘‘ lest the troubled state of affairs 1 
would prevent the Queen from taking her usual vacation, m 
where she loves best to be. But to say the truth, Lucius, I I 


ZElsOEIA. 


103 


do not think the prospect of a rupture with Rome does 
give her very serious thought. The vision of a trial of 
arms with so renowned a soldier as Aurelian, is, I doubt, 
not wholly displeasing to her; there being especially -so 
good reason to believe that what befell Heraclianus might 
befall Aurelian. Nay, do not look so grave. Rome is 
not fallen — yet.^^ 

“ Your tongue, Fausta, is lighter than your heart. Yet 
if Rome must fall, why truly I know not at whose feet it 
could fall so worthily as those of Zenobia and Fausta. But 
I trust its destiny is never to fall. Other kingdoms as 
great, or almost as great, I know you will say, have fallen, 
and Rome must in its turn. It seems, however, I must 
say, to possess a principle of vitality which never before 
belonged to any nation. Its very vastness too seems to 
protect it. I can as soon believe that shoals of sea-carp 
may overcome the whale, or an army of emmets the ele- 
phant or rhinoceros, as that one nation, or many banded 
together, can break down the power of Rome. 

How very, very naturally and easily is that said. Who 
can doubt that you are a Roman, born upon the Coelian 
Hill! Pity but that we Palmyrenes could copy that high 
way you Romans have. Do you not think that strength 
and success lie much in confidence? Were every Roman 
such as you, I can believe you were then omnipotent. But 
then we have some like you. Here are Zenobia and I; you 
can not deny that we have something of the Roman about 
us. 

I confess it would be a drawn battle, at least, were you 
a nation of Zenobias. How Fausta is at the lance, I can 
not yet tell.^^ 

“ That you shall see as soon as we are among the moun- 
tains. Is not this charming, now, in the Queen to bring 
us all together again so soon, under her own roof? And 
such a place too, Lucius! We shall live there, indeed; 
each day will at least be doubled. For I suppose life is to 
be measured, not by hours, but sensations. Are yoli ready 
for the morning start! Oh, that Solon were here! what 
exquisite mirth should we have! Milo is something; but 
Solon were more.'’’ 

‘‘ Fausta, Fausta,” cried Gracchus, when will you be 
a woman?” 

“ Never, I trust,” replied Fausta^ “ If I may then nei- 


104 


ZENOBIA. 


ther laugli, nor cry, nor vex a Koman, nor fight for our 
Queen. These are my vocations, and if I must renounce 
them, then I will be a man.''^ 

Either sex may be proud to gain you, my noble girl,^^ 
said Gracchus. 

Early in the morning of the following day, all at the 
house of Gracchus gave note of preparation. We were to 
meet the Queen and her party a few miles from the walls 
of the city, at an appointed place, whence we were to make 
the rest of the journey in company. We were first at the 
23lace of meeting, which was a rising ground, shadowed by 
a few cedars, with their huge branching tops. AVe reined 
up our horses and stood with our faces toward the road, 
oyer which we had just passed, looking to catch the first 
view of the Queen. The sun was just rising above the 
horizon, and touching with its golden color the higher ob- 
jects of the scene — the tall cedars — the gray crags, which 
here and there jutted out into the plain — the towers, and 
columns, and obelisks of the still slumbering city. 

How beautiful exclaimed Fausta: ‘‘but look! that 
is more beautiful still — that moving troop of horse! See! 
even at this distance you can distinguish the form and bear- 
ing of the Queen. How the slant beams of this ruddy sun 
make her dress and the harness of her gallant steed to 
sparkle! Is it not a fair sight, Lucius?"" 

It was beautiful indeed. The Queen was conspicuous 
above all, not more for her form and bearing, than for the ' 
niore than imperial magnificence of her appointments. It ; 
is thus she is always seen by her people, dazzling them 
equally by her beauties and her state. As she drew nearer, 

I felt that I had never before seen aught on earth so glori- 'j 
ous. The fiery Arabian that bore her knew, as well as I, 1 
who it was that sat upon him; and the pride of his car- I 
riage was visible in a thousand expressive movements, d 
Julia wa,s at her side, differing from her only as one sun I 
differs from another. She, like Zenobia, seemed almost a ^ 
part of the animal that bounded beneath her, so perfect 'ji 
was the art with which she rode. ^ 

“ A fair morning to you all,"" cried the Queen, accom- ' 
panying the words with a glance that was reward enough : 
for a life of service. “The day smiles upon our enter- i 
23 rise. Fausta, if you will join me, Piso will take care of 


ZENOBIA. 


105 

i Julia; as for our Zabdas and Longinus^, they are sad loiter- 
ers. 

Saying these things — scarcely checking her steed — and 
^ before the rest of the party had quite come up — we darted 
; on, the Queen leading the way, and, as is her wont, al- 
: most at the top of her horse’s speed. 

Zenobia,” said Julia, is in fine spirits this morning, 

: as you may judge from her beaming countenance, and the 
I rate at which she travels. But we can hardly converse 
I while we are going so fast.” 

I “No bond has been signed,” said I, “ that we should 
ride like couriers. Suppose, princess, we slacken our 
I pace. ” 

! That will we,” she replied, and leave it to the Queen 
to announce our approach. Here now, alas! are Zabdas 
, and Longinus overtaking us. The Queen wonders at your 
delay,” said she, addressing fhem; ‘‘put spurs to your 
1 horses, and you may easily overtake her. ” 

‘‘ Is it required?” asked the Egyptian, evidently willing 
to linger. 

“ Hot so indeed,^’ answered Julia, “ but it would be 
! gallant; the Queen, save Fausta, is alone. How can we 
answer it, if evil befall her? Her girth may break.” 

At which alarming suggestion, taking it as merrily as i t 
> was given, the two counselors quickened their pace, and 
1 bidding us good-morning, soon, as we saw at the ascent of 
a little hill, overtook Zenobia. 

For the rest of us, we were passing and repassing each 
I other, mingling and separating all the remainder of the 
way. Our road lay through a rough and hilly country, but 

■ here and there sprinkled with bright spots of the richest 
, beauty and highest cultivation. The valleys, whenever we 
[descended into them, we found well watered and tilled, 
j and peopled by an apparently happy peasantry. And as 
; we saw them from first one eminence and then another, 

! stretching away and winding among the hills, we agreed 
that they presented delicious retreats for those who, weary 

■ of the world, wished to taste, toward the close of life, the 
( sweets of a repose which the world never knows. As we 
drew toward the end of our ride — a ride of quite twenty 
Eoman miles — we found ourselves forsaken of all the rest 
of the company, owing either to our horses not being equal 
to the others, or rather, perhaps, to the frequent pauses 


106 


ZEN-OBIA. 


which we made at all those points where the scenery pre- 
sented anything beautiful or uncommon. 

Everything now at last indicated that we were not far 
from the royal demesne. All around were marks of the 
hand and eye of taste having been there, and of the outlay 
of enormous wealth. It was not, however, till we had, 
for a mile and more, ridden through lawns and fields 
covered with grain and fruit, laid out in divisions of tillage 
or of wood, that, emerging from a dark grove, we came t 
within sight of the palace. We could just discern, by the f 
glittering of the sun upon the jewelry of their horses, that ’i 
the last of the company were wheeling into the grounds in | 
front of what seemed the principal part of the vast struct- I 
ure. That we might not be too much in the rear of all, 3 
we put our horses to their speed, which then, with the -? 
fieetness of wind, bore us to the outer gates of the palace. % 
Passing these, we were in a moment in the midst of those ^ 
who had preceded us, the grooms and slaves of the palace | 
surrounding us, and taking charge of our horses. Zenobia | 
was still standing in the great central portico, where she ij 
had dismounted, her face glowing with the excitement of { 
the ride, and engaged in free discourse with the group | 
around her. Soon as Julia reined up her horse, and f 
quicker than any other could approach, she sprang to her 
daughter's side, and assisted her to dismount, holding with ■*- 
a strong hand the while, the fiery and restless animal’ she i 
rode. 

‘‘Welcome in safety, Julia,'" said the Queen, “and' 
thanks, noble Piso, for your care of your charge. But, : 
perhaps, we owe your safety more to the strength of your 
Arab"s girth, than to any care of Piso. "" 5 

Julians laugh rang merrily through the arches of the por- ^ 
tico. 

“ Truly,"" said she, “ I was glad to use any sudden con- ' 
ceit by which to gain a more solitary ride than I was like 
to have. It was my ambition to be Piso"s companion, that 
I might enjoy the pleasure of pointing out to new eyes the f 
beauties of the country. I trust I was rightly compre- 
hended by bur grave counselors. "" 

“ Assure yourself of it,"" said Longinus; “ and though & 
we could not but part from you with some unwillingness, M 
yet seeing whom we were to join, we bore the loss with such I 
philosophy as we were able to summon on the sudden."" 


ZENOBIA. 


107 


Zenobia now led the way to the banqueting liall where 
tables loaded with meats, fruits, and wines, offered them- 
selves most temptingly and seasonably, to those who had 
ridden, as I have said, twenty Roman miles. 

I This villa of the Queen, for its beauty and extent un- 
* rivaled in all the East, I would that I could set before you, 
j so that you might form some conception of its greatness 
' and variety. The palace stands at the northern extremity 
of a vast plain, just where the wild and mountainous re- 
i gion ends, and the more level and cultivated begin. To the 
North stretches a savage country, little inhabited, and 
! tilled with the wild animals which make the forests of Asia 
i so terrible. This is the Queen^s hunting-ground. It was 
here that, with Odenatus, she pursued the wild boar, the 
tiger, or the panther, with a daring and a skill that aston- 
ished the boldest huntsmen. It was in these forests, that 
the wretch Maeonius, insolently throwing his javelin at the 
game, just as he saw his uncle was about to strike, incurred 
that just rebuke, which however his revengeful nature 
never forgave, and which was appeased only with the blood 
of the royal Palmyrene. Zenobia is never more herself 
than when she joins the chase mounted upon her fleet 
Arabian, and roused to all her power by the presence of a 
gallant company of the boldest spirits of Palmyra. 

The southern view, and which my apartments overlook, 
i presents a wide expanse of level ground, or gently un- 
; dulating, offering a various prospect of cultivated fields, 

‘ unbroken lawns, dense groves, of standing or flowing 
: waters, of light bridges spanning them, of pavilions, ar- 
bors, statues, standing out in full view, or just visible 
' through the rich foliage or brilliant flowering plants of 
these sunny regions. The scene is closed by the low, wav- 
i ing outline of the country, through which we passed on 
; the morning of our ride from Palmyra, over which there is 
spread a thin veil of purple haze, adding a new charm to 
whatever objects are dimly discerned through it. At one 
point only can we, when this vapor is by any cause di- 
minished, catch a glimpse of the loftier buildings of the 
distant city. But the palace itself, though it be the work 
of man, and not of gods, is not less beautiful than all these 
aspects of nature. It is wholly built after the light and 
almost fantastic forms of the Persian architecture, which 
seem more suited to a residence of this kind than the 


108 


ZEKOBIA. 


heavier fashions of the Greek or Roman taste. Hadrians^ 
villa is alone to be compared with it for vastness and mag- 
nificence, and that, by the side of this, seems a huge 
prison, so gay and pleasing are the thoughts and sensa- 
tions which this dream-like combination of arch upon 
arch, of pinnacle, dome, and tower — all enriched with the 
• most minute and costly work — ^inspires the mind. 

Nothing has pleased me more than at times, when the 
^ sultry heats of the day forbid alike study and recreation, 
to choose for myself some remote and shaded spot, and 
lying along upon the flowery turf, soothed by the drowsy 
hum of the summer insects, gaze upon this gorgeous pile of 
oriental grandeur, and lazily drink in the draughts of a 
beauty, as I believe, nowhere else to be enjoyed. When at 
such hours Julia or Fausta is my companion, I need not 
say in how great degree the pleasure is heightened, nor 
what hues of a more rosy tint wrap all the objects of the 
scene. Fountains here, as everywhere in the Eastern 
world, are frequent, and of such size as to exert a sensible 
influence upon the heated atmosphere. Huge columns of 
the coldest water, drawn from the recesses of the mount- 
ains, are thrown into the air, and then falling and foam- 
ing over rocks rudely piled, to resemble some natural cas- 
cade, disapj^ear, and are led by subterranean conduits to 
distant and lower parts of the ground. These fountains 
take many and fantastic forms. In the center of flie 
princi23al court of the palace, it is an enormous elephant of 
stone, who disgorges from his uplifted trunk a vast but 
graceful shower, sometimes charged with the most exquis- 
ite perfumes, and which are diffused by the air through 
every part of the palace. Around this fountain, reclining 
upon seats constructed to allow the most easy attitudes, or 
else in some of the apartments immediately opening upon 
it, it IS our custom to pass the evening hours, either con- 
versing^ with each other, or listening to some tale which he 
who thinks he can entertain the company is at liberty to 
relate, or gathering at once instruction and delight, as Lon- 
ginus, either from his memory or a volume imparts to us 
choice selections of the literature of Athens or Rome So 
have I heard the ‘‘ (Edipus Tyrannus,^^ and the ‘‘ P^me- 
theus, as I never have heard them before. 

At such times, it is beautiful to see the group of listen- 
ers gathering nearer and nearer, as the philosopher reads 


ZElsOBIA. 


109 


or recites, and catching every word and accent of that di- 
vine tongue, as it falls from his lips. Zenobia alone, of 
all who are there, ever presumes to interrupt the reader 
I with either question or comment. To her voice Longinus 
instantly becomes a willing listener; and well may he; for 
I never does she speak, at such moments, without adding a 
■ new charm to whatever theme she touches. Her mind, 
surprisingly clear, and deeply imbued with the best spirit of 
ancient learning, and poetically cast, becomes of right our 
: teacher; and commands always the profound respect, if 
not always the assent, of the accomplished Greek. Not 
1 unfrequently, on such casual remark of the Queen, the 
; reading is thereupon suspended, and discussion between 
her and the philosopher, or conversation upon topics sug- 
gested in which we all take part, ensues. But, however 
this may be, all moves on in a spirit the most liberal, 
frank, and free. No restraint is upon us but that which 
reverence for superior learning, or goodness, or beauty im- 
poses. I must add, that on these occasions the great 
Zabdas is always seen to compose himself to his slumbers, 
from which he often starts, uttering loud shouts, as if at 
, the head of his troops. Our bursts of laughter wake him 
not, but by the strange power of sleep seem to be heard by 
him as df they were responsive cries of the enemy, and 
only cause him to send forth louder shouts than ever, 
“ Down with the Egyptian dogs!^^ “ Let the Nile choke 
with their carcasses “ The Queen forever and then 
his voice dies away in inarticulate sounds. 

But I should weary you indeed, were I to go on to tell 
you half the beauties and delights of this chosen spot, and 
cause you, perhaps, to be discontented with that quiet, 
modest house, upon the banks of the Tiber. I leave you, 
therefore, to fill up with your own colors the outline which 
I have now set before you, as I best could, and pass to other 
things. 

Every day has seen its peculiar games and entertain- 
ments. Sometimes the Queen ^s slaves, trained to their re- 
spective feats, have wrestled, or fought, or run, for our 
amusement. At other times, we ourselves have been the 
performers. Upon the race-course, fleet Arabians have 
contended for the prize, or they, who have esteemed thmu- 
selves skillful, have tried for the mastery in two or four 
horse chariots. Elephants have been put to their strength. 


110 


ZEKOBIA. 


and dromedaries to their speed. But our chief pleasure has 
been derived from trials of skill and of strength with the 
lance and the arrow, and from the chase. 

It was in using the lance, that Antiochus, a kinsman of 
the Queen, whom I believe I have not before mentioned, 
although I have many times met him, chiefly signalized him- 
self. This person, half Syrian and half Bom an, possessing 
the bad qualities of both, and the good ones of neither, was 
made one of this party, rather, I suppose, because he could 
not be left out, than because he was wanted. He has few 
friends in Palmyra, but among wild and dissolute spirits 
like himself. He is famed for no quality either great or 
good. Violent passions and intemperate lusts are what he 
is chiefly noted for. But, except that pride and arrogance 
are written upon the lines of his countenance, you would 
hardly guess that his light- tin ted and beardless cheeks and 
soft blue eyes belonged to one of so dark and foul a soul. 
His frame and his strength are those of a giant; yet is he 
wholly destitute of grace. His limbs seem sometimes as 
It they were scarcely a part of him, such difficulty does he 
discover in marshaling them aright. Consciousness of 
this embarrasses him, and sends him for refuge to his 
pride, which darts looks of anger and bitter revenge upon 
all who otfend or make light of him. His ambition is, and 
ills hope, to succeed Zenobia. You may think this strange 
considering the family of the Queen. But as for the sons 
oi Zenobia, he calculates much, so it is reported, upon 
their weakness both of mind and body, as rendering them 
distasteful to the Palmyrenes, even if they should li^^- and 
as for Julia and her sisters, he has so high conceptions of 
his own superior merit, that he doubts not in case of the 
Que^ s demise, that the people would by acclamation se- 
lect him, in preference to them, as her successor; or in the 
last emergency, that it would be but to marry Julia in 
order to secure the throne beyond any peradventure. 
Ihese are the schemes which many do not scruple to im- 
pute to him. Whether credited or not by Zenobia, I can 
not tell. But were they, I believe she would but smile at 
the poor lack-brain who entertains them. Intrenched as 
she is in the impregnable fortress of her people^s hearts, 
she might wel] despise the intrigues of a bolder and 
worthier spirit than Antiochus. For him she can spare 
neither words nor thoughts. ^ 


ZENOBIA. 


Ill 


It was Fausta who a few days ago, as jve rose from the 
I tables, proposed that we should try our strength and skill 
I in throwing the lance. “ I promised you, Lucius,^^ said 
she, ‘‘ that when here, you should be permitted to judge 
of my abilities in that art. Are all ready for the sport 

All sprung from their seats, like persons weary of one 
occupation, and grateful for the proffer of another. 

Zenobia led the way to the grounds, not far from the 
palace, appropriated to games of this kind, and to the 
various athletic sports. Not all the company entered the 
lists, but many seated themselves, or stood around, specta- 
tors of the strife. Slaves now appeared, bearing the 
lances, and preparing the ground for our exercise. The 
feat to be performed seemed to me not difficult so much 
as impossible. It was to throw the lance with such unerr- 
ing aim and force, as to pass through an aperture in a 
shield of four-fold ox-hide, of a size but slightly larger 
than the beam of the lance, so as not so much as to graze 
the sides of the perforated place. The distance too of the 
point from which the lance was to be thrown, from the 
shield, was such as to require great strength of arm to over- 
come it. 

The young Caesars advanced first to the trial. “ Now,^’ 
whispered Fausta, ‘‘ behold the vigor of the royal arm. 
Were such alone our defense, well might Palmyra trem- 
hle.^^ 

Herennianus, daintily handling and* brandishing his 
lance, in the manner prescribed at the schools, where skill 
in all warlike arts is taught, and having drawn all eyes 
upon him, at length let it fly, when, notwithstanding so 
much preparatory flourish, it fell short of the staff upon 
which the shield was reared. 

“Just from the tables,^ ^ said the prince, as he with- 
drew, angry at his so conspicuous failure; “ and how can 
* one reach what he can scarcely see?^^ 

“ Our arm has not yet recovered from its late injury,^^ 
said Timolaus, as he selected his weapon; “yet will we 
venture a throw. His lance reached the mast, but 
dropped feebly at its foot. Vabalathus, saying nothing, 
and putting all his strength in requisition, drove his weapon 
into the staff, where it stood quivering a moment, and fell 
to the ground. 

Carias, Seleucus, Otho, Gabrayas, noblemen of Palmyra, 


112 


ZENOBIA. 


now successively tried their fortune, and all showed them- 
selves well-trained to the use of the weapon, by each fixing 
his lance in the body of the shield, and in the near neigh- 
borhood of the central hole. 

Zabdas now suddenly springing from his seat, which he 
had taken among those who apparently dechned to join in 
the sport, seized a lance from the hands of the slave who 
bore them, and hurling it with the force of a tempest, the 
weapon, hissing along the air, struck the butt near the cen- 
ter; but the wood of which it was made, unused to such 
violence, shivered and crumbled under the blow. Without 
a word, and without an emotion, so far as the face was its 
index, the Egyptian returned to his seat. It seemed as if 
he had done the whole in his sleep. It is actual war 
alone that can rouse the energies of Zabdas. 

Zenobia, who had stood leaning upon her lance, next ad- 
vanced to the trial. Knowing her admirable skill at all 
manly exercises, I looked with certainty to see her surpass 
those who had already essayed their powers. Kor was 
I disappointed. With a wonderful grace she quickly 
threw herself into the appointed position, and with but a 
moment's preparation, and as if it cost her but a slight 
effort, sent her lance, with unerring aim and incredible 
swiftness, through the hole. Yet was not the feat a per- 
fect one. For, in passing through the aperture, the 
weapon not having been driven with quite sufficient force, 
did not preserve its level, so that the end grazed the shield, 
and the lance then consequently taking an oblique direc- 
tion, plunged downward and buried its head in the turf. 

‘‘Now, Fausta," said the Queen, “must you finish 
what I have but begun. Let us now see your weapon 
sweep on till its force shall be evenly spent. 

“ When Zenobia fails," said Fausta, “ there must be 
some evil influence abroad that shall cripple the powers of 
others yet more. However, let me try; for I have prom-, 
ised to prove to our Horn an friend that the women of Pal- 
myra know the use of arms not less than the men.". 

So saying, she chose her lance, and with little ceremony, 
and almost before our eyes could trace her movement, the 
weapon had flown, and passing through, as it seemed' the 
very center of the perforated space, swept on till its force 
died away in the distance, and it fell gracefully to the 
ground. 


ZEi^OBIA. 


113 


A burst of applause arose from the surrounding groups. 
“ I knew/" said Zenobia, ‘‘ that I could trust the fame 
: of the women of Palmyra to you. At the harp, the needle, 

I or the lance, our Fausta has no equal; unless/" turning 
I herself round, ‘‘ in my own Julia. Now we will see what 
your arm can do."" 

Standing near the lances, I selected one eminent for its 
smoothness and polish, and placed it in her hand. 

With a form of so much less apparent vigor than either 
Zenobia or Fausta, so truly Syrian in a certain soft languor 
that spreads itself over her, whether at rest or in motion, 
it was amazing to see with what easy strength she held and 
balanced the heavy weapon. Every movement showed 
that there lay concealed within her ample power for this 
and every manly exercise, should she please to put it forth. 

“ At the schools,"" said the princess, “ Fausta and I 
went on ever with equal steps. Her advantage lies in 
being at all times mistress of her power. My arm is often 
treacherous, through failure of the heart."" 

It was not difficult to see the truth of what she said, in 
her varying color, and the slightly agitated lance. 

But addressing herself to the sport, and with but one in- 
stant"s pause, the lance flevv^ toward the shield, and enter- 
ing the opening, but not with a perfect direction, it passed 
not through, but hung there by the head. 

“ Princess,"" said Zabdas, springing from his repose 
with more than wonted energy, that lance was chosen, 
as I saw, by a Roman. Try once more with one that 1 
shall choose, and see what the issue will be."" 

‘‘Truly,"" said Julia, “I am ready to seize any jalea 
under which to redeem my fame. But first give me your- 
self a lesson, will you not?" " 

The Egyptian was not deaf to the invitation, and once . 
more essaying the feat, and with his whole soul bent to the 
work, the lance, quicker than sight, darted from his hand, - 
and following in the wake of Fausta" s, lighted further ^ 
than hers — ^beihg driven with more force — upon the lawn* 

The princess now, with more of confidence in her air, 
again balanced and threw the lance which Zabdas had 
chosen — this time with success; for, passing through the 
shield, it fell side by side with Fausta’s. 

“Fortune still unites us,'" said Julia; “if for a time 
she leaves me a little in the rear, yet she soon repents of 


114 


ZEN-OBIA. 


the wrong, and brings me Saying which, she placed ■ 

herself at Fausta^s side. 

‘' But come, our worthy cousin,’" said the Queen, now 
turning and addressing Antiochus, who stood with folded 
arms, dully surveying the scene, “ will you not try a 
lauce.^” 


"Tis hardly worth our while,” said he, “for the gods 
seem to have delivered all the honor and power of the East 
■ into the hands of women.” 

“ Yet it may not be past redemption,” said Julia, “ and 
who more likely than Hercules to achieve so great a work.^ 
Pray begin.” 

That mass of a man, hardly knowing whether the prin- 
cess were jesting or in earnest— for to the usual cloud that ! 
rested upon his intellect, there was now added the stupidity 
arising from free indulgence at the tables— slowly moved ^ 
toward the lances, and selecting the longest and heaviest, ’ 
took his station at the proper place. Raising then his ^ 
arm, which was like a weaver’s beam, and throwing his ^ 
enormous body into attitudes which showed that no child’s 5 
play was going on, he let drive the lance, which, shooting ] 
with more force than exactness of aim, struck upon the ] 
outer rim of the shield, and then glancing sideways was j 
near spearing a poor slave, whose pleasure it was, with i 
others, to stand in the neighborhood of the Wtt, to pick ? 
up and return the weapons thrown, or withdraw them ? 
from the shield, where they might have fastened them- 
selves. 


Involuntary laughter broke forth upon this unwonted 
pertormance of the lance; upon which it was easy to see 
by the mounting color of Antiochus, that his passions were 
inflamed. Especially— did we afterward suppose— was he 
exclamation of one of the slaves near the 
shield, who was heard to say to his fellow: “ Now is the 
reign of women at an end. ” Seizing, however, on the in- 
stant, another lance, he was known to exclaim, by a few 
who stood ne^ him, but who did not take the meaning of 
his word^ With a better mark, there may be a better 
aim. 1 hen resuming his position, he made at first, by a 

uTw certainty 

now, to hit the shield; but, changing suddenly the direc- 

tion of his lance, he launched it with fatal aim, and a 
giant s force, at the slaye who had uttered those words 


ZENOBIA. 


115 


It went through him, as he had been but a sheet of papyrus, 
and then sung along the plain. The poor wretch gave one 
convulsive leap into the air, and dropped dead. 

‘‘ Zenobia!'^ exclaimed Julia. 

“ Great Queen r" said Fausta. 

‘‘ Shameful!’" — ‘‘ dastardly!"" — “ cowardly!"" — broke 
from one and another of the company. 

‘‘ That"s the mark I never miss,’" observed Antiochus; 
and at the same time regaled his nose from a box of per- 
fume. 

‘‘ "Tis his own chattel,"" said the Queen; ‘‘he may do 
with it as he lists. He has trenched upon no law of the 
realm, but only upon those of breeding and humanity. 
Our presence, and that of this company, might, we think, 
have claimed a more gentle observance. "" 

“ Dogs!"" fiercely shouted Antiochus — who, as the Queen 
said these words, her eyes fastened indignantly upon him, 
had slunk sulkily to his seat— “ dogs,"" said he, aiming 
suddenly to brave the matter, “ off with yonder carrion!— 
it offends the Queen."" 

“ Would our cousin,"" said Zenobia, “ win the hearts of 
Palmyra, this surely is a mistaken way. Come, let us to 
the palace. This spot is tainted. But that it may be 
sweetened as far as may be, slaves!"" she cried, “ bring to 
the gates the chariot, and other remaining chattels of An- 
tiochus!"" 

Antiochus, at these words, pale with the apprehension of 
a cowardly spirit, rose and strode toward the palace, from 
which, in a few moments, he was seen on his way to the 
city. 

“ You may judge me needlessly harsh, Piso,"" said the 
Queen, as we now sauntered toward the palace, “ but truly 
the condition of the slave is such, that seeing the laws pro- 
tect him not, we must do something to enlist in his behalf 
the spirit of humanity. The breach of courtesy, however, 
was itself not to be forgiven."" 

“It was a merciful fate of the slave,"" said I, “com- 
pared with what our Boman slaves suffer. To be lashed 
to death, or crucified, or burned, or flayed alive, or torn by 
dogs, or thrown as food for fishes, is something worse than 
this quick exit of the thrall of Antiochus. You of these 
softer climes are in your natures milder than we, and are 
more moved by scenes like this. What would you think. 


116 


ZENOBIA. 


Queen, to see nc-t one, but scores or hundreds of these mis- 
erable beings, upon bare suspicion of attempts against their 
master^s life, condemned, by their absolute irresjDonsible 
possessors, to death in all its most revolting forms? Nay, 
even our Roman women, of highest rank, and gentlest 
nurture, stand by while their slaves are scourged, or them- 
selves apply the lash. If under this torture they die, it is 
thought of but as the death of vermin. War has made 
with us this sort of property of so cheap possession, that to 
destroy it is often a useful measure of economy. By a 
Roman, nothing is less regarded than life. And in truth, 
I See not how it can be otherwise. 

‘‘ But surely,"^ said Julia, “ you do not mean to defend 
this condition of life. It is not like the sentiments I have 
heard you express. 

‘‘ I defend it only thus,^^ I replied: ‘‘ so long as we have 
wars — and when will they cease? — there must be caiDtives; 
and what can these be but slaves? To return them to 
their own country, were to war to no purpose. To colon- 
ize them were to strip war of its horrors. To make them 
freemen of our own soil, were to fill the land with foes and 
traitors. Then if there must be slaves, there must be mas- 
ters and owners. And the absolute master of other human 
beings, responsible to no one, can be no other than a 
tyrant. If he has, as he must have, the power to punish 
at will, he will exercise it, and that cruelly. If he has the 
power to kill, as he must have, then will he kill and kill 
cruelly, when his nature prompts. And tliis liis nat- 
ure will prompt, or if not his nature absolutely, yet 
his educated nature. Our children grow up within 
the sight and sound of all the horrors and sufferings of 
this state of things. They use their slaves — with which, 
almost in infancy, they are provided— according to their 
pleasure— as dogs, as horses; they lash, they scourge them, 
long before they have the strength to kill. What wonder 
if the boy, who, when a boy, used a slave as his beast of 
burden, or his footstool, when he grows to be a man, 
should use him as a mark to be shot at? The youth of 
Antiochus was reared in Rome. I presume to say that his 
earliest playthings were slaves, and the children of slaves. 

I am not surprised at his act. And such acts are too com- 
mon in Rome, for this to disturb me much. The educa- 
tion of Antiochus was continued and completed, I may 


ZENOBIA. 


117 


venture also to say, at the circus. I think the result very 
natural. It can not be very different, where slavery and 
the sports of the amphitheater exist. 

‘‘I perceive your meaning,"" said Julia: “ Antiochus 
you affirm to be the natural product of the customs and 
institutions which now prevail. It is certainly so, and 
must continue so, until some new element shall be intro- 
duced into society, that shall ultimately reform its prac- 
tices, by first exalting the sentiments and the character of 
the individual. Such an element do I detect — "" 

“ In Christianity,"" said Fausta: ‘‘ this is your panacea. 
May it prove all you desire; yet methinks it gives small 

E romise, seeing it has already been at work more than two 
undred years, and has accomplished no more."" 

“ A close observer,"" replied Julia, ‘‘ sees much of the 
effect of Christianity beside that which appears upon the 
surface. If I err not greatly, a few years more will reveal 
what this religion has been doing these two centuries and 
more. Revolutions which are acted out in a day, have 
often been years or centuries in preparation. An eye that 
will see, may see the final issue, a long time foreshadowed 
in the tendencies and character of a preceding age."" 

The princess uttered this with earnestness. I have re- 
flected upon it. And if you, my Cur tins, will look around 
upon the state of the empire, you will find many things to 
startle you. But of this another time. 

Assembled in the evening in the court of the elephant, 
we were made to forget whatever had proved disagreeable 
during the day, while. we listened to the Frogs,"" read by 
J ulia and Darginus. 

The following day was appointed for the chase, and early 
in the morning I was wak^ by the braying of trumpets, 
and the baying of dogs. I found the Queen already 
mounted and equipped for the sport, surrounded by Zabdas, 
Longinus, and a few of the nobles of Palmyra. We were 
soon joined by Julia and Fausta. In order to insure our 
sport, a tiger, made fierce by being for some days deprived 
of fo^, h£i the preceding evening been let loose from the 
royal collection into the neighboring forests. These for- 
ests, abounding in game, commence immediately, as it 
were, in the rear of the palace. They present a boundless 
continuity of crag, mountain, and wooded plain, offering 
every variety of ground to those who seek the pleasures of 


118 


ZENOBIA. 


the chase. The sun had not been long above . the horizon 
when we sallied forth from the palace gates, and from the 
smooth and shaven fields of the royal demesne, plunged at 
once into the — 

% :jc . * * % * * 

It was a moment of inexpressible horror. At the same 
instant, our eyes caught the form of the famished tiger, 
just in the act to spring from the crag upon the uncon- 
scious Queen. But before we had time to alarm Zenobia — 
which would indeed have been useless — a shaft from an 
unerring arm arrested the monster mid-air, whose body then 
tumbled heavily at the feet of Zenobia^ s Arab. The horse, 
rearing with affright, had nearly dashed the Queen against 
the opposite rocks, but keeping her seat, she soon, by her 
powerful arm and complete horsemanship, reduced him to 
his obedience, though trembling like a terrified child 
through every part of his body. A thrust from my hunt- 
ing spear quickly dispatched the dying beast. We now 
gathered around the Queen. 

* 5 * 5 }: % * 

Hardly were we arrived at the lawn in front of the 
palace, when a cloud of dust was observed to rise in the 
direction of the road to Palmyra, as if caused by a body of 
horse in rapid movement. ‘‘ What may tins mean?"^ said 
Zenobia: “ orders were strict, that our brief retirement 
should not be disturbed. This indicates an errand of some 
urgency.^'’ 

Some embassy from abroad, perhaps, said Julia, 

that can not brook delay. It may be from your great 
brother at Rome.'’^ 

While we, in a sportive humor, indulged in various con- 
jectures, an official of the palace announced the approach 
of a Roman herald, “ who craved permission to address the 
Queen of Palmyra. He was ordered to advance. 

In a few moments, upon a horse covered with dust and 
foam, appeared the Roman herald. Without one moment's 
hesitancy, he saw Zenobia the Queen, then taking off his 
helmet, said, “ that Caius Petronius, and Cornelius Yarro, 
embassadors of Aurelian, were in waiting at the outer 
gates of the palace, and. asked a brief audience of the Queen 
of Palmyra, upon affairs of deepest interest, both to Zeno- 
bia and the Emperor. ' ' 

• It is not our custom," said Zenobia in reply, “ when 


ZE^s^OBTA. 


119 


seeking repose, as now, from the cares of state, to allow 
anght to break it. But we will not be selfish nor churlish. 
Bid the servants of your Emperor draw near, and we will 
hear them.^^ 

I was not unwilling that the messengers of Aurelian 
should see Zenobia just as she was now. Sitting upon her 
noble Arabian, and leaning upon her hunting-spear, her 
countenance glowing with a higher beauty than ever be- 
fore, as it seemed to me — her head surmounted with a 
Paifhian hunting-cap, from which drooped a single ostrich 
feather, springing from a diamond worth a nation’s rental, 
her costume also Parthian, and revealing in the most per- 
fect manner the just proportions of her form — I thought I 
had never seen even her, when she so filled and satisfied 
the eye and the mind — and, for that moment, I was almost 
a traitor to Aurelian. Had Julia filled her seat, I should 
have been quite so. As it was, I could worship her who 
sat her steed with no less grace, upon the left of the Queen, 
without being guilty of that crime. On Zenobia ’s right 
were Longinus and Zabdas, Gracchus, and the other noble- 
men of Palmyra. I and Fausta were near Julia. In this 
manner, just as we had come in from the chase, did we 
await the embassadors of Aurelian. 

Announced by trumpets, and followed by their train, 
they soon wheeled into the lawn, and advanced toward the 
Queen. 

‘‘ Caius Petronius and Gomelins Varro,” said Zenobia, 
first addressing the embassadors, and moving toward them 
a few paces, we bid you heartily welcome to Palmyra. 
If we receive you thus without form, you must take the 
blame partly to yourselves, who have sought us with haste. 
We put by the customary observances, that we may cause 
you no delay. These whom you see are all friends or 
counselors. Speak your errand without restraint.” 

‘‘ We c.ome,’^ replied Petronius, “ as you may surmise, 
great Queen, upon no pleasing errand. Yet we can not 
but persuade ourselves, that the Queen of Palmyra will 
listen to the proposals of A^urelian, and preserve the good 
understanding which has lasted to long between the West 
and the East. There have been brought already to your 
ears, if I have been rightly informed, rumors of dissatisfac- 
tion on the part of our Emperor, with the affairs of the 
East, and of plans of an eastern expedition. It is my busi- 


120 


ZENOBIA. 


ness now to say, that these rumors have been well founded, 
l am further to say, that the object at which Aurelian has 
aimed, in the preparations he has made, is not Persia, but 
Palmyra.-’^ 

‘‘He does us too much honor,^^ said Zenobia, her color 
rising, and her eyes kindling; “ and what, may I ask, are 
specifically his demands, and the price of peace 

“ Por a long series of years, said the embassador, “ the 
wealth of Egypt and the East, as you are aware, flowed 
into the Roman treasury. That stream has been diverted 
to Palmyra. Egypt, and Syria, and Bithynia, and Meso- 
potamia, were dependents upon Rome, and Roman 
provinces. It is needless to say what they now are. The 
Queen of Palmyra was once but the Queen of Palmyra; 
she is now Queen of Egypt and of the East — Augusta of 
gie Roman Empire— her sons styled and arrayed as Caesars. 
By whatever consent of former emperors these honors have 
been won or permitted, it is not, we are required to say, 
with the consent of Aurelian. By whatever service in be- 
half of Rome they may, in the judgment* of some, be 
thought to be deserved, in the judgment of Aurelian the 
reward exceeds greatly the value of the service rendered. 
But while we would not be deemed insensible to those 
sernces, and while he honors the greatness and the genius 
of Zenobia, he would, he conceives, be unfaithful to the 
interests of those who have raised him to his high office, if 
he did not require that in the East, as in the West, the 
Roman Empire should again be restored to the limits which 
boimded it in the reigns of the virtuous Antonines. This 
he holds essential to his own honor, and the glorv of the 
Roman world. 


You have delivered yourself, Oaius Petronius,"’ reiiiied 
Bie Queen, 111 a calm and firm voice, “as it became a 
Roman to do, with plainness, and as I must believe, with- 
out reserve. So far I honor you. How hear me, and as 
you hear, so report to him who sent you. Tell Aurelian 
that what I am, I have made myself; that the empire 
which hails me Queen has been molded into what it is^ bv 
Odenatus and Zenobia; it is no gift, but an inheritance— a 
coiiquest and a possession; it is held, not by favor, but by 
right of birth and power; and that when he will give awav 
possessions or provinces which he claims as his or Romeos 
lor the asking, I will give away Egypt and the Mediter- 


ZEKOBIA. 


121 


ranean coast. Tell him that as I have lived a queen, so, 
the gods helping, I will die a queen— that the last mo- 
ment of my reign and my life shall be the same. If he is 
ambitious, let him be told that I am ambitious too — am- 
bitious of wider and yet wider empire— of an unsullied 
fame, and of my people^s love. Tell him I do not speak 
of gratitude on the part of Rome, but that posterity will 
say, that the Power which stood between Rome and Persia, 
and saved the empire in the East, which avenged the death 
of Valerian, and twice pursued the kings as far as the gates 
of Ctesiphon, deserved some fairer acknowledgment than 
the message you now bring, at the hands of a Roman 
emperor.'’^ 

Let the Queen,^-' quickly rejoined Petronius, but evi- 
dently moved by what he had heard, “ let the Queen fully 
take me. Aurelian purposes not to invade the fair region 
where I now am, and where my eyes are rejoiced by this 
goodly show of city, plain, and country. He hails you 
Queen of Palmyra! He does but ask again those append- 
ages of your greatness, which have been torn from Rome, 
and were once members of her body.^^ 

Your emperor is gracious indeed!"^ replied the Queen, 
smiling; ‘‘if he may hew off my limbs, he will spare the 
trunk! — and what were the trunk without the limbs. 

“ And is this,-’^ said Petronius, his voice significant of 
inward grief, “ that which I must carry back to Rome.^ Is 
there no hope of a better adjustment 

“Will not the Queen of Palmyra delay for a few days 
her final answer?"" added Varro; “ I see, happily, in her 
train, a noble Roman, from whom, as well as from us, she 
may obtain all needed knowledge of both the character and 
purposes of Aurelian. We are at liberty to wait her pleas- 
ure. "" 

“ You have our thanks, Romans, for your courtesy, and 
>ve accept your offer; although in what I have said, I think 
I have spoken the sense of my people. "" 

“ You have indeed, great Queen,"" interrupted Zabdas 
with energy. 

“ Yet I owe it to my trusty counselor, the great Lon- 
ginus,"" continued the Queen, “and who thinks not with 
me, to look further into the reasons — which, because they 
are his, must be strong ones — by which he supports an op- 
posite judgment."" 


122 


ZEKOBIA. 


“ Those reasons have now/^ said the Greek, “ lost much 
or all of their force — Zabdas smiled triumphantly — 
‘‘ yet still I would advocate delay. 

“ Let it be so then,^^ said the Queen; ‘‘ and in the mean- 
while, let the ambassadors of Aurelian not refuse the hos- 
pitalities of the Eastern Queen. Ouz’ palace is yours, wliile 
it shall please you to remain. 

‘‘ Eor the night and the morning, we accept your offers; 
t^n, as strangers in this region, we would return to the 
city, to see better than we have yet done the objects which 
it presents. It seemed to us, on a hasty glance, surrounded 
by its luxuriant plains, like the habitation of gods. We 
would dwell there a space. 

It shall be as you will. Let me conduct you to the 
palace. 

So saying, Zenobia, putting spurs to her horse, led the 
way to the palace, followed by a long train of Romans and 
Palmyrenes. The generous hospitality of the tables closed 
the day and wore away the night. 


LETTER VII. 

You will be glad to learn, my Curtius, that the time has 
now come, when I may with reason look for news from 
Isaac, or for his return. It was his agreement to write of 
his progress, so soon as he should arrive at Ecbatana. But 
since he would consume but a very few days in the accom- 
plishment of his task, if, the gods helping, he should be 
able to accomplish it at all, I may see him even before I hear 
from him, and, 0 day thrice happy! my brother perhaps 
with him. Yet I am without solicitude, even though Cal- 
purnius should return. For how shall I meet him. as a 
Persian, or a Roman? — as a friend, or an enemy? As a 
brother, I can never cease to love him; as a public enemy 
of Rome, I may be obliged to condemn him. 

You have indeed gratified me by what. you have said con- 
cerning the public works in which the emperor is now en- 
gaged. Would that the erection of temples and palaces 
might draw away his thoughts from the East. The new 
wall, of so much wider sweep, with which he is now in- 
closing the city, is well worthy the greatness of his genius. 
Yet do we, my Curtius, perceive in this rebuilding and 
strengthening of the walls of Rome, no indication of our 


ZENOBIA. 


123 


count ry^s decline? Were Rome vigorous and sound, as 
once, in her limbs, what were the need of this new defense 
about the heart? It is to me a confession of weakness, 
rather than any evidence of greatness and strength. 
Aurelian achieves more for Rome by the strictness of his 
discipline, and his restoration of the ancient simplicity and 
severity among the troops, than he could by a triple wall 
about the metropolis. Rome will then already have fallen, 
when a Gothic army shall have penetrated so far as even 
to have seen her gates. The walls of Rome are her living 
and moving walls of flesh. Her old and crumbling ram- 
parts of masonry, upon which we have so often climbed in 
sport, rolling down into the surrounding ditch huge masses, 
have ever been to me, when I have thought of them, preg- 
nant signs of security and power. 

The embassadors, Petronius and Varro, early on the 
morning succeeding their interview with the Queen, de- 
parted for the city. They were soon followed by Zenobia 
and her train of counselors and attendants. It had been 
before agreed that the princess, Fausta, and myself, should 
remain longer at the palace, for the purpose of visiting, as 
had been proposed, the aged Christian hermit, whose re- 
treat is among the fastnesses of the neighboring mountains. 

I would rather have accompanied the Queen, seeing it was 
so certain that important interviews and discussions would 
take place, when they should be all returned once more to 
the city. I suppose this was expressed in my countenance, 
for the Queen, as she took her seat in the chariot, turned 
and said to me: ‘‘We shall soon see you again in the city. 
A few hours in the mountains will be all that Julia will 
require; and sure I am that the wisdom of St. Thomas will 
more than repay you for what you may lose in Palmyra. 
Our topics will relata but to worldly aggrandizement— 
yours to more permanent interests.'’^ 

How great a pity that the love of gloiy has so fastened 
upon the heart of this wonderful woman; else might she 
live, and reign, and die the object of universal idolatry. 
But set as her heart is upon conquest and universal empire 
throughout the East, and of such marvelous power to sub- 
due every intellect, even the strongest, to her will, I can 
see nothing before her but a short and brillant career, end- 
ing in ruin, absolute and complete. Zenobia has not, or 
will not allow it to be seen that she has, any proper con- 


124 


ZE^rOBIA. 


ception of the power of Rome. She judges of Rome by 
the feeble Valerian, and the unskillful Heraclianus, and by 
their standard measures such men as Aurelian, and Pro- 
bus, and Carus. She may indeed gain a single battle, for 
her genius is vast, and her troops well disciplined and 
brave. But the loss of a battle would be to her the loss of 
empire, while to Rome it would be but as the sting of a 
summer insect Yet this she does not or will not see. To ‘ 
triumph over Aui'elian is, I believe, the vision that dazzles, 
deludes, and will destroy her. ' 

No sponer had the Queen and her train departed, than, ' 
mounting dur horses, we took our way, J ulia, Fausta, and 
myself, through winding alleys and over rugged hills, to- 
ward the hermit ^s retreat. Reaching the base of what 
seemed an almost inaccessible crag, we found it necessary . - 
to leave our horses in the care of attendant slaves, and 
pursue the remainder of the way on foot. The hill which 
we now had to ascend, was thickly grown over with every vari- , 
ety of tree and bush, with here and there a mountain stream 
falling from rock to rock, and forcing its way to the valley 
below. The sultry heat of the day compelled us frequent- : 
ly to pause, as we toiled up the side of the hill, seating our- ' 
selves, now beneath the dark shadows of a branching cedar ' 
or the long-lived terebinth, and now on the mossy banks ■ 
of a descending brook. The mingled beauty and wildness 
of the scene, together with such companions, soon drove 
the Queen, Rome, and Palmyra, from my thoughts. I ^ 
could not but wish that we might lose our way to the her- * 
mit"s cave, that by such means our walk might be pro- ] 
longed. 

‘^Is it, I wonder,^ ^ said Fausta, “ the instruction of his 
religion which confines this Christian saint to these distant 
solitudes? What a singular faith it must be which should 
drive all who embrace it to the woods and rocks! What ' 
would become of our dear Palmyra, were it to be changed > 
to a Christian city? The same event, I suppose, Julia, ^ 
would change it to a desert. 

“ I do not think Christianity prescribes this mode of life, 
though I do not know but it mav permit it,^^ replied tho 
princess. “ But of this, the hermit will inform us. Ho 
may have chosen this retreat on account of his extreme ; 
age, which permits him no longer to engage in the affairs , 
of an active life. 


ZEKOBIA. 


125 

^ ^ trust for the sake of Christianity it is so/^ added 
Fausta; for I can not conceive of a true religion inculca- 
ting, or even permitting inactivity. What would become 
of the world, if it could be proved that the gods reouired 
us to pass our days in retired contemplation?'" 

‘‘Yet, it can not be denied,"" said Juha, “that the 
greatest benefactors of mankind have been those who have 
in solitude, and with patient labor, pursued truth till they 
have discovered it, and then revealed it to shed its light 
and heat upon the world. "" 

“For my part," " replied Fausta, “I must think that 
they who have sowed and reaped, have been equal bene- 
factors. The essential truths are instinctive and universal. 
As for the philosophers, they have, with few exceptions, 
been occupied as much about mere frivolities as any 
Palmyrene lady at her toilet. Still, I do not deny that the 
contemplative race is a useful one in its way. What I say 
is, that a religion which enjoined a solitary life as a duty, 
would be a very mischievous religion. And what is more, 
any such precept, fairly proved upon it, would annihilate 
all its claims to a divine origin. For certainly, if it were 
made a religious duty for one man to turn an idle, con- 
templative hermit, it would be equally the duty of every 
other, and then the arts of life by which we subsist would 
be forsaken. Any of the prevalent superstitions, if we may 
not call them religions, were better than this."" 

“ I agree with you entirely,"" said Julia; “ but my ac- 
quaintance with the Christian writings is not such as to 
enable me to say with confidence that they contain no such 
permission or injunction. Indeed, some of them I have not 
even read, and much I do not fully understand. But as 
I have seen and read enough to believe firmly that Chris- 
tianity is a divine religion, my reason teaches me that it 
contains no precept such as we speak of.'" 

We had now, in the course of our walk, reached what we 
found to be a broad and level ledge, about half-way to the 
summit of the hill. It was a spot remarkable for a sort of 
dark and solemn beauty, being set with huge branching 
trees, whose tops were woven into a roof, through which 
only here and there the rays of the fierce sun could find 
their way. The turf beneath, unencumbered with any 
smaller growth of tree or shrub, was sprinkled with flowers 
that love the shade. The upper limit of this level space 


126 


ZEIsTOBIA. 


was bounded by precipitous rockS;, up which ascent seemed 
difficult or impossible, and the lower by similar ones, to de- 
scend which seemed equally difficult or impossible. 

‘‘ If the abode of the Christian is hereabouts,^ ^ we said, 

‘‘ it seems well chosen both for its security and the exceed- 
ing beauty of the various objects which greet the eye.-’^ 

y Soon as we shall have passed that tumbling rivulet,^^ 
said Julia, ‘‘ it will come into view. 

Upon a rude bridge of fallen trunks of trees, we passed 
the stream as it crossed our path, and which then shooting 
over the edge of the precipice, was lost among the rocks 
and woods below. A cloud of light spray fell upon us as 
we stood upon the bridge, and imparted a most refreshing 
coolness. 

“ Where you see,"" said Julia, '' that dark entrance, be- 
neath yonder low-browed rock, is the dwelling of the aged 
Christian."" 

We moved on with slow and silent steps, our spirits par- 
taking of the stillness and solitariness of the place. We 
reached the front of the grotto, without disturbing the 
meditations of the venerable man. A part of the rock 
which formed his dwelling served him for a seat, and 
another part projecting after the manner of a shelf, served 
him for a table, upon which lay unrolled a large volume. 
Bending over the book, his lean and shriveled finger point- 
ing to the words, and aiding his now dim and feeble eye, 
he seemed wholly wrapped in the truths he was contem- 
plating, and heeded not our presence. W^e stood still for a 
moment, unwilling to break a repose so peaceful and pro- 
found. At length, raising his eyes from the page, they ; 
caught the form and face of the princess, who stood near- ^ 
est to him. A quick and benignant smile lighted up his = 
features; and rising slowly to his full height, he bade her i 
welcome, with sweet and tremulous tones, to his humble i 
roof. 1 

It is kind in 3^011,"" said he, so soon again to ascend ] 
these rough solitudes, to visit a now unprofitable old man- ^ 
and more kind still to bring others with you. Voices from : 
the world ring a sweet music in my ear—sweeter than any 
sound of bird or stream. Enter, friends, if it please you, ' 
and be rested, after the toil of 3^0111’ ascent."" 

‘‘ I brin^ you here, father,"" said Julia, ‘‘ according to 
my sometime promise, my friend and companion, the ^ 


ZENOBIA. 


127 

daughter of Gracchus, and with her a noble Eoman, of the 
world ” ^***'’^^ capital of the 

“They are very, very welcome,” replied the saint; 
presence breaks most gratefully the monotony of 

1 ‘doubted,” said I, “venerable father, 

whether it would please you to find beneath your roof those 
who receive not your belief, and what is much more, be- 
long to a faith which has poured upon you and yours so 
full a flood of suffering and reproach. But your coun- 
tenaiicB assures us that vv^e have erred. 

\ou have indeed/^ replied the sage; as a Christian 
i see in you not pagans and unbelievers, not followers of 
Plato and Epicurus, not dwellers in Rome or Alexandria, 
but members of the great family of man, and as such I 
greet you, and already love you. The design of Christian- 
ity IS to unite and draw together, not divide and drive 
asunder. It teaches its disciples, indeed, to go out and 
convert the world, biit if they can not convert it, it still 
teaches them to love it. My days and my strength have 
been spent in preaching Christ to Jews and heathen, and 
n;any of those who have heard have believed. But more 
have not. These are not my brethren in Christ, but they 
are my brethren in God, and I love them as His. "" 

‘‘ These are noble sentiments,"^ said Fausta. ^'Religion 
lias, in almost all its forms, condemned utterly all who 
have not received it in the form in which it has been pro- 
posed. Rome, indeed^ used to be mild and tolerant of 
every shape which the religious sentiment assumed. But 
since the appearance of Christianity it has wholly changed 
its policy. I am afraid it formerly tolerated, only because 
it saw nothing to fear. Fearing Christianity, it seeks to 
destroy it. That is scarcely generous of you, Lucius; nor 
very wise either— for surely truth can neither be created 
nor suppressed by apphcations of force. Such is not the 
doctrine of Christianity, if I understand you right. "" 

‘‘ Lady, most certainly not,"" he replied. ‘‘ Christianity 
is offered to mankind, not forced upon them. And this 
supposes in them the power and the right to sit in judg- 
ment upon its truth. But were not all free judgment de- 
stroyed, and all worthy reception of it therefore, if any 
penal consequences — ^greater or less, of one kind or another. 


128 


ZENOBIA. 


present or future — followed upon its rejection? Rome has 
done wickedly, in her aim to suppress error and maintain 
truth by force. Is Rome a god to distinguish with certainty 
the one from the other? But alas! Rome is not alone to 
blame in this. Christians themselves are guilty of the 
same folly and crime. They interpret differently the say- 
ings of Christ — as how should they not? and the party 
which is stronger in numbers already begins to oppress, 
with hard usage and language, the weaker party, which 
presumes to entertain its own opinions. The Christians of 
Alexandria and Rome, fond of the ancient philosophy, 
and desirous to recommend the doctrines of Christ, by 
showing their near accordance with it, have, as many 
think, greatly adulterated the gospel, by mixing up- with 
its truths the fantastic dreams of Plato. Others, among 
whom is our Paul of Antioch, deeming this injurious and 
erroneous, aim to restore the Christian doctrine to the sim- 
plicity that belongs to it in the original records, and which, 
for the most jDart, it still retains among the common 2^00- 
ple. But this is not willingly allowed. On the contrary, 
because Paul can not see with their eyes and judge with 
their judgment, he is to be driven from his bishopric. 
Thus do the Christians imitate in their treatment of each : 
other their common enemy, the Roman. They seem al- 
ready ashamed of the gentleness of Christ, who would have 
every mind left in its own freedom to believe as its own 
powers enable it to believe. Our good Zenobia, though 
no Christian, is yet in this resjDect the truest Christian. 
All within her realm, thought is free as the air that plays 
among these leaves. • 

^ But is it not, said Fausta, a mark of imperfection 
in }our religion, that it can not control and bind to a per- 
fect life its disciples? Metliinks a divine religion should ' 
manifest its divinity in the superior goodness which it 
forms. 

‘‘ Is not that just?^^ I added. 

“A divine religion, "Mie replied, “may indeed be ex- 
pected to show its heaven-derived power in creating a | 
highei ^iitue than human systems. And tliis, I am sure 
Chnstianity does. I may safely challenge the world to show - 
m human form the iierfeotion which dwelt in Jesus, the 
founder of this religion. Yet His character was formed by 
the 2iower of His own doctrines. Among His followers if 


ZEKOBIA. 


1S9 

there have been none so perfect as He, there }xave been 
multitudes who have approached Him, and have exhibited a 
Virtue which was once thought to belong only to philoso- 
phers. The world has been accustomed to celebrate, with 
almost divine honors, Socrates, and chiefly because of the 
greatness of mind displayed by him when condemned to 
drink the cup of poison. I can tell you of thousands 
among the Christians, among common and unlearned 
Christians, who have met death, in forms many times 
more horrible than rhat in which the Greek encountered it 
with equal calmness and serenity. This they have been 
enabled to do simply through the divine force of a few 
great truths, which they have implicitly believed. Beside 
this, consider the many usages of the world, which, while 
others hold them innocent, the Christians condemn them, 
and abstain from them. It is not to be denied that they 
are the reformers of the age. They are busy, sometimes 
with an indiscreet and violent zeal, in new modeling both 
the opinions and practices of the w^orld. But what then? 
Are they to be condemned if a single fault may be charged 
upon them? Must they be perfect, because their religion 
is divine? This might be so, if it were of the nature of 
religion to operate with an irresistible influence upon the 
mind, producing an involuntary and forced obedience. 
But in such an obedience there would be nothing like what 
we mean by virtue, but something quite- inferior in the 
comparison. A religion for the reason that it is divine, 
will, with the more certainty, make its appeals to a free 
nature. It will explain the nature, and reveal the conse- 
quences of virtue and vice, but will leave the mind free to 
choose the one or the other. Christianity teaches, that in 
goodness, and faithfulness to the sense of duty, lies the 
chief good; in these there is a heaven of reward, not only 
now and on earth, but throughout an existence truly im- 
mortal. Is it not most evident that, with whatever au- 
thority this religion may propound its doctrines, men not 
being in a single power coerced, will not, though they may 
receive them, yield to them an equal observance? Hence, 
even among Christians, there must be, perhaps ever, 
much imperfection.^^ 

Hoes not this appear to you, Pausta and Piso,^’ said 
Julia, as the old man paused, just and reasonable? Can 
it be an objection to this faith, that its disciples partake of 


130 


ZENOBIA. 


the common weaknesses of humanity? Otherwise, relig- 
ion would be a principle designed, not so much to improve 
and exalt our nature, as to alter it/’ 

‘‘We allow it readily to be both just and reasonable/^ 

“ But it seemed to us,’"’ said Fausta, “as we ascended 
the mountain, and were conversing, to be with certainty 
a proof of imperfection in your religion — pardon my 
freedom, we are come as learners, and they who would 
learn, must, without restraint, express their doubts — that 
it recommended or permitted a recluse and inactive life. 
Have your days, father, been passed in this deep solitude? 
and has your religion demanded it?^^ 

“ Your freedom pleases me,^'’ replied the venerable 
man; “ and I wonder not at the question you propose. 
Not my religion, lady, but an enfeebled and decrepit frame 
chains me to this solitude. I have now outlasted a cent- ' 
ury, and my powers are wasted and gone. I can do little - 
more than sit and ponder the truths of this life-giving ' 
book, and anticipate the renewed activity of that immortal ' 
being which it promises. The Christian converts, who ' 
dwell beneath those roofs which you see gleaming in the j 
valley below, supply the few wants which I have. When - 
their labor is done for the day, they sometimes come ujd, 
bringing with them baskets of fresh or dried fruits, which " 
serve me, together with the few roots and berries which I J 
myself can gather as I walk this level space, for my food. 
My thirst I quench at the brook which you have just ] 
passed. Upon this simple but wholesome nutriment, and f 
breathing this dry mountain air, my days may yet be pro- ; 
longed through many years. • But I do not covet them, since : 
nature makes me a prisoner. But I submit, because my ■ 
faith teaches me to receive patiently whatever the Supreme 
Euler appoints. It is not my religion that prescribes this 
manner of life, or permits it, but as the last refuge of an ^ 
imbecility like mine. Christianity denounces selfishness, 
in all its forms, and what form of selfishness more gross ' 
than to spend the best of one^s days in solitary musing and ■ 
prayer, all to secure one^s own salvation? The founder of 
this religion led an active and laborious life. He did good i 
not only_ to himself by prayer and meditation; He went 
about doing it to others — seeking out objects whom He might ; 
benefit and bless. His life was one of active benevolence; ’ 
and the record of that life is the religious code of His fol- 


ZENOBIA. 


131 

1 condemnation could be more severe than that 
which the Prophet of Nazareth would pronounce upon 
such a life as mine now is, were it a chosen, voluntary 
one. But it never has been voluntary. Till age dried up 
the sources of my strength, I toiled night and day in all 
countries and climates, in the face of every danger, in the 
service of mankind. For it is by serving others, that the 
law of Christ is fulfilled. Disinterested labor for others 
constituted the greatness of Jesus Christ. This constitutes 
true greatness in His followers. I perceive that what I 
say falls upon your ear as a new and strange doctrine. But 
it IS the doctrine of Christianity. It utterly condemns, 
theiefore, a life of solitary devotion. It is a mischievous 
influence which is now spreading outward from the example 
of that Paul, who suffered so much under the persecution 
of the Emperor Decius, and who then, flying to the soli- 
tudes of the Egyptian Thebais, has there, in the vigor of 
his days, buried himself in a cave of the earth, that he 
may serve God by forsaking man. His maxim seems to 
be, ‘ The further from men, the nearer to God the re- 
verse of the Christian maxim, ‘ The nearer man, the 
nearer God." A disciple of Jesus has truly said: 'He 
who loves not his brother whom he hath seen, how shall 
he love God, whom he hath not seen?"" This, it may be, 
Roman, is the first sentence you have ever heard from the 
Christian books."" 

" I am obliged to confess that it is,"" I replied. " I 
have heretofore lived in an easy indifference toward all re- 
ligions. The popular religion of my country I early learned 
to despise. I have perused the philosophers, and exam- 
ined their systems, from Pythagoras to Seneca, and am 
now, what I have long been, a disciple of none by Pyrrho. 
My researches have taught me only how the more ingeni- 
ously to doubt. W earied at length with a vain inquiry 
after truth that should satisfy and fill me, I suddenly aban- 
doned the pursuit, with the resolve never to resume it. I 
was not even tempted to depart from this resolution when 
Christianity offered itself to my notice; for I confounded 
it with Judaism, and for that, as a Roman, I entertained 
too profound a contempt to bestow upon it a single 
thought. I must acknowledge that the reports which I 
heard, and which I sometimes read, of the marvelous con- 
stancy and serenity of the Christians^ under accumulated 


132 


ZENOBIA. 


sufferings and wrongs, interested my feelings in their be- 
half; and the thought often arose, ‘ Must there not be 
truth to support such heroism P"* But the world went on 
its way, and I with it, and the Christians were forgotten. 
To a Christian, on my voyage across the Mediterranean, I 
owe much, for my first knowledge of Christianity. To 
the Princess Julia I owe a larger debt still. And now 
from your lips, long accustomed to declare its truths, I 
have heard what makes me truly desirous to hear the 
whole of that which, in the glimpses I have been able to 
obtain, has afforded so real a satisfaction. 

‘‘ Were you to study the Christian books,^^ said the re- 
cluse, ‘‘ you would be chiefly struck perhaps with the plain- 
ness and simplicity of the doctrines there unfolded. You 
would say that much which you found there, relating to 
the right conduct of life, you had already found scattered 
through the books of the Greek and Eoman moralists. You 
would be startled by no strange or appalling truth. You 
would turn over their leaves in vain in search of such dark 
and puzzling ingenuities as try the wits of those who resort 
to the pages of the Timaeus. A child can understand the 
essential truths of Christ. And the value of Christianity 
consists not in this, that it puts forth a new, ingenious, 
and intricate system of philosophy, but that it adds to rec- 
ognized and familiar troths divine authority. Some things 
are indeed new; and much is new, if that may be called so 
which, having been neglected as insignificant by other 
teachers, has by Christ been singled out and' announced as 
primal and essential. But the peculiarity of Christianity 
lies in this, that its voice, whether heard in republishing 
an old and familiar doctrine, or announcing a new one, is 
not the voice of man, but of God. It is a revelation. It 
is a word from the invisible, unapproachable Spirit of the 
universe. For this Socrates would have been willing to 
renounce all his wisdom. Is it not this which we need? 
We can theorize and conjecture without end, but can not 
relieve ourselves of our doubts. They will assail every 
work of man. We wish to repose in a divine assurance. 
This we have in Christianity. It is a message from God. 
It puts an end to doubt and conjecture. Wise men of all 
ages have agreed in the belief of One God, but not being 
able to demonstrate his being and his unity, they have had 
no power to change the popular belief; which, ha;5 ever 


ZEFOBIA. 


133 


tended to j)olytlieism and idolatry. Christianity teaches 
this truth with the authority of God himself, and already 
has it become the faith of millions. Philosophers have 
long ago taught that the only safe and happy life is a virtu- 
ous life. Christianity repeats this great truth, and adds, 
that it is such a life alone that conducts to immortality. 
Philosophers have themselves believed in the doctrine of a 
future existence, and have died hoping to live again; and 
it can not be denied that mankind generally have enter- 
tained an obscure expectation of a renewed being after 
death. The advantage of Christianity consists in this, that 
it assures us of the reality of a future life, on the word and 
authority of God himself. Jesus Christ taught, that all 
men come forth from death, wearing a new spiritual body, 
and thereafter never die; and to confirm his teaching, he 
himself being slain, rose from the dead, and showed him- 
self to his followers alive, and while they were yet looking 
upon him, ascended to some other and higher world. Sure- 
ly, Eoman, though Christianity announced nothing more 
than these great truths, yet seeing it puts them forth in 
the name, and with the authority of God, it is a vast ac- 
cession to our knowledge. 

“ Indeed it can not be denied, I answered. ‘‘ It would 
be a great happiness too to feel such an assurance, as he 
must who believes in your religion, of another life. Death 
would then lose every terror. We could approach the close 
of life as calmly and cheerfully, sometimes as gladly, as 
we now do the close of a day of weary travel or toil. It 
would be but to lie down and rest, and sleep, and rise 
again refreshed by the slumber for the labors and enjoy- 
ments of a life which should then be without termination, 
and yet unattended by fatigue. I can think of no greater 
felicity than to be able to perceive the truth of such a re- 
ligion as yours. 

‘‘ This religion of the Christians, said Fausta, “ seems 
to be full of reason aole and desirable truth — if it all be 
truth. But how is this great point to be determined? 
How are we to know whether the founder of this religion 
was in truth a person holding communication with God? 
The mind will necessarily demand a large amount of evi- 
dence, before it can believe so extraordinary a thing. I 
'greatly fear, Julia, lest I may never be a Christian. What 
IS the evidence, father, with which you trust to convince 


134 


ZEKOBIA. 


the mind of an inquirer? It must possess potency, for all 
the world seems flocking to the standard of Christ/^ 

‘‘ I think, indeed,’’^ replied the saint, “ that it possesses 
potency. I believe its power to be irresistible. But do 
you ask in sincerity, daughter of Gracchus, what to do in 
order to believe in Christianity?^-’ 

‘‘I do, indeed,’^ answered Fausta. “But know that 
my mind is one not easy of belief.’^ 

“ Christianity, lady, asks no forced or faint assent. It 
appeals~to human reason, and it blames not the conscien- 
tious doubter or denier. When it requires you to examine, 
and constitutes you judge, it condemns no honest decision. 
The mind that approaches Christianity must be free, and 
ought to be fearless. Hesitate not to reject that which 
evidence does not substantiate. But examine and weigh ■ 
well the testimony. If then you would know whether 
Christianity be true, it is flrst of all needful that you read 
and ponder the Christian books. These books prove them- 
selves. The religion of Christ is felt to be true, as you 
read the writmgs in which it is recorded. Just as the works 
of nature prove to the contemplative mind the being of a 
God, so do the books of the Christian prove the truth of 
their religion. As you read them, as your mind embraces 
the teaching, and above all, the character of Christ, you 
involuntarily exclaim: ‘ This must be true; the sun in the ' 
heavens does not more clearly point to a divine author, than 
do the contents of these books. " You And them utterly 
unlike any other books — differing from them just in the , 
same inflnite and essential way that the works of God differ 
from the works of man. ’ ^ : 

He paused, and we were for a few moments silent. At 
length Fausta said: This is all very new and strange, ■ 
father! Why, Julia, have you never urged me to read 
these books ?^^ 

“ The princess,"" resumed the hermit, “ has done wisely ■ 
to leave you to the promptings of your own mind. The ^ 
more everything in rehgion is voluntary and free, the more ■ • 
worth attaches to it. Christ would not that any should be 
driven or urged to him; but that they should come. 
blevertheless the way must be pointed out. I have now k 
^own you one way. Let me tell you of another. The 1 
Christian books bear the names of the persons who profess S 
to have written them, and who declare themselves to have m 


ZENOBIA. 


135 


lived and to have recorded events which happened in the 

P rovince of Judea, in the reigns of Tiberius and Nero, 
jow it is by no means a difficult matter for a person, de- 
sirous to arrive at the truth, to institute such inquiries^ as 
shall fully convince him that such persons lived then and 
there, and performed the actions ascribed to them. We are 
not so far removed from those times, but that by resorting 
to the places where the events of the Christian history took 
place, we can readily satisfy ourselves of their truth — if 
they be true — by inquiring of the descendants of those who 
were concerned in the very transactions recorded. This 
thousands and thousands have done, and they believe in 
the events — strange as they are— of the Christian history as 
implicitly as they do in the events of the Roman histoiy, 
for the same period of time. Listen, my children, while I 
rehearse my own experience as a believer in Christ. 

“ My father, Cyprian, a native of Syria, attained, as I 
have attained, to an extreme old age. At the age of five 
score years and ten, he died within the walls of this quiet 
dwelling of nature^s own hewing, and there at the root of 
that ancient cedar his bones repose. He was for twenty 
years a contemporary of St. John the Evangelist — of that 
John, who was one of the companions of Jesus the founder 
of Christianity, and who ere he died wrote a history of 
Jesus, of his acts and doctrine. From the very lips of this 
holy man, did the youthful but truth-loving and truth- 
seeking Cyprian receive liis knowledge of Christianity. He 
sat and listened while the aged apostle — the past rising be- 
fore him with the distinctness of a picture — told of Jesus; 
of the mild majesty of his presence; of the power and 
sweetness of his discourse; of the love he bore toward all 
that lived; of his countenance radiant with joy when, in 
using the miraculous power intrusted to show his descent 
from God, he gave health to the pining sick, and restored 
the dying and the dead to the arms of weeping friends. 
There was no point of the history which the apostle has 
recorded for the instruction of posterity, which Cyprian did 
not hear, with all its minuter circumstances, from his own 
mouth. Nay, he was himself a witness of the exercise of 
that same power of God which was committed without 
measure to Jesus, on the part of the apostle. He stood by 
— his spirit wrapt and wonder-struck — while at the name of 
Jesus the lame walked, the blind recovered their sight, and 


13(5 


ZENOBIA. 


the sick leaped from their couches. When this great aposth} 
was fallen asleep, my father, by the counsel of St John, 
and that his faith might be yet further confirmed, traveled 
over all the scenes of the Christian history. He visited the 
towns and cities of Judea, where Jesus had done his mar- 
velous works. He conversed with the children of those 
who had been subjects of the healing power of the Messiah. 
He was with those who themselves had mingled among the 
multitudes who encompassed him, when Lazarus was sum- 
moned from the grave, and who clung to the cross when 
Jesus was upon it dying, and witnessed the sudden dark- 
ness, and felt the quaking of the earth. Finding, wherever 
he turned his steps in Judea, from Bethlehem to Naza- 
reth, from the Jordan to the great sea, the whole land 
filled with those who, as either friends or enemies, had 
hung upon the steps of Jesus, and seen His miracles, what 
was he, to doubt whether such a person as Jesus had ever 
lived, or had ever done those wonderful works? He 
doubted not; he believed, even as he would have done had 
he himself been present as a disciple. In addition to this, 
he saw at the places where they were kept, the evangelic 
histories, in the writing of those who drew them up; and. 
at Rome, at Corinth, at Philippi, at Ephesus, he handled 
with his own hands the letters of Paul, which he wrote tc' 
the Christians of those places; and in those places and 
others, did he dwell and converse with multitudes who h^. 
seen and heard the great apostle, and had witnessed the 
wonders he had wrought. I, the child of Cyprian^s old 
age, heard from him all that I have now recounted to you. 

I sat at his feet, as he had sat at the evangelist % and from 
him I heard the various experiences of his long, laborious, 
and troubled life. Could I help but believe what I heard? 

— and so could I help but be a Christian? My father was 
a man — and all Syria knows him to have been such an one 
—of a passionate love of truth. At any moment would he 
have cheerfully suffered torture and death, sooner than 
have swerved from the strictest allegiance to its very letter. 
Nevertheless, he would not that I should trust to him. 
alone, but as the apostle had sent him forth, so he sent me- 
forth, to read the evidences of the truth of this religion in 
the living monuments of Judea. I, too, wandered a pih i 
grim over the hills and plains of Galilee. I sat in the syn- * 
agogue at Nazareth. I dwelt in Capernaum. I mused b^' fl 


ZEKOBIA. 


137 


she shore of the Galilean lake. I haunted the ruins of 
Jerusalem, and sought out the places where the Saviour of 
men had passed the last hours of his life. Night after 
i night I wept and prayed upon the Mount of Olives. 

I Wherever I •went, and among whomsoever I mingled, I 
found witnesses eloquent and loud, and without number, 
to all the principal facts and events of our sacred history. 
Ten thousand traditions of the life and acts of Christ and 
His apostles, all agreeing substantially with the written rec- 
ords, were passing from mouth to mouth, and descending 
from sire to son. The whole land, in all its length and 
breadth, was but one vast monument to the truth of Chris- 
tianity. And for this purpose it was resorted to by the 
lovers of truth from all parts of the world. Hid doubts 
arise in the mind of a dweller in Home, or Carthage, or 
Britain, concerning the whole or any part of the Christian 
story, he addressed letters to well known inhabitants of the 
Jewish cities, or he visited them in person, and by a few 
plain words from another, or by the evidence of his own 
eyes and ears, every doubt was scattered. When I had 
stored my mind with knowledge from these original sources, 
I then betook myself to some of the living oracles of Chris- 
tian wisdom, with the fame of whose learning and piety the 
world was filled. From the great Clement of Rome, from 
Dionysius at Alexandria, from Tertullian at Carthage, 
from that wonder of human genius, Origen, in his school 
at Caesarea, I gathered together what more was needed to 
arm me for the Christian warfare; and I then went forth 
full of faith myself to plant its divine seeds in the hearts of 
whosoever would receive them. In this good work my days 
have been spent. I have lived and taught but to unfold to 
others the evidences which have made me a Christian. My 
children,"' continued he, ‘‘ why should you not receive my 
words? why should I desire to deceive you? I am an old 
man, trembling upon the borders of the grave. Cau I 
have any wish to injure you? Is it conceivable that, 
standing thus already as it were before the bar of God, I 
could pour false and idle tales into your ears? But if I 
have spoken truly, can you refuse to believe? But I must 
not urge. Use your freedom. Inquire for yourselves. Let 
the leisure and the wealth which are yours carry you to 
read with your own eyes that widespread volume which 
you will find among the mountains and valleys of the Holy 


138 


ZENOBIA. 


Land. Princess, my strength is spent, or there is much 
more I could gladly add."’"’ 

‘‘My friends, said the princess, “ are, I am sure, 
grateful for what you have said, and they have heard. 

“Indeed we are,^^ said Fausta, “and heartily do we 
thank you. One thing more would I ask. What think 
you of the prospects of the Christian faith? Are the com- 
mon reports of its rapid ascendency to be heeded? Is it 
makmg its way, as we are told, even into the palaces of 
kings? I know, indeed, what happens in Palmyra; but 
elsewhere, holy father?^ ^ 

As Fausta spoke those words, the aged man seemed 
wrapped in thought. His venerable head sunk upon his 
breast; his beard swept the ground. At length, slowly 
raising his head, and with eyes lifted upward, he said, in ' ' 
deep and solemn tones: “ It can not, it can not be diffi- 
cult to read the future. It must be so. I see it as if it 
were already come. The throne which is red with blood, 
and he who sits thereon, wielding a sword dropping blood, 
sinks — sinks— and disappears; and one all white, and he 
who sits thereon, having upon his frontlet these words, 

‘ Peace on earth and good will toward men,^ rises and 
fills its place. And I hear a movement as of a multitude - 
which no man can number, coming and worshiping around 
the throne.^ God of the whole earth, arise! — visit it with 
Thy salvation! Hasten the coming of the universal king- 
dom of Thy Son, when all shall know Thee, and love to , 
God and love to man possess and fill every soul. 

As the venerable man uttered this prayer, Julia looked ^ 
steadfastly upon him, and a beauty more than of earth ‘ 
seemed to dwell upon her countenance. 

“ Father,^" said Fausta, “ we are not now fair judges of ; 
truth. Your discourse has wrought so upon us, that we " 
need reflection before we can tell what we ought to believe. 

That is just,^^ said the saint; “ to determine right, - 
we must think as well as feel.' And that your minds may ^ 
the sooner return to the proper state, let me set before you 
of such as my dwelling will afford. ^ ^ 

Saying this, he moved from the seat which till now he i 
had retained, and closing the volume he had been reading, I 
laid it away with care, saying as he did so, “This, chd- f 
dren, is the^ Christianas book; not containing all those ti 
writings which we deem to be of authority in describing fk 


2EK0BIA. 


139 


our faith, but such as are most needful. It is from read- 
ing this, and noting as you read the inward marks of hon- 
esty, and observing how easy it were, even now, by visit- 
ing J udea, to convict its authors of error and. falsehood, 
had they been guilty of either, that your minds will be best 
! able to judge of the truth and worth of Christianity.-’'’ 

“At another time, father,^'’ said Fausta, “ it would give 
me great delight, and equally too, I am sure, our friend 
from Rome, if you would read to us portions of that vol- 
ume, that we may know somewhat of its contents from your 
lips, accompanied too by such comments as you might 
deem useful to learners. It is thus we have often heard 
the Greek and Roman writers from the mouth of Longi- 
nus. 

“ Whenever,^^ he replied, “ you shall be willing to as- 
cend these steep and rugged paths, in pursuit of truth, I in 
my turn, will stand prepared to teach. To behold such 
listeners before me, brings back the life of former days.-’^ 

He then, with short and interrupted steps, busied him- 
I self in bring forth his humble fare. Bread and fruits, and 
olives, formed our light repast, together with ice-cold 
water, which Julia, seizing from his hand the hermit'’ s 
pitcher, brought from a spring that gushed from a neigh- 
boring rock. 

This being ended, and with it much various and agree- 
able conversation, in the course of which the Christian 
patriarch gave many striking anecdotes of his exposed and 
toilsome life, we rose, and bidding farewell, with promises 
to return again, betook ourselves to our horses, and mount- 
ing them, were soon at the gates of the palace. 

I confess myself interested in the question of Christianity.. 
The old religions are time-worn, and in effect dead. To 
the common people, when believed, they are as often injuri- 
ous as useful — to others, they are the objects of open, un- 
disguised contempt. Yet religion, in some form, the 
human mind must have. We feel the want of it as we do 
of food and drink. But, as in the case of food and drink, 
it must be something that we shall perceive to nourish and 
strenghten, not to debilitate and poison. In my searches 
through antiquity, I have found no system which I could 
rest in as complete and satisfying. They all fail in many 
vital points. They are frequently childish in their requisi- 
tions and their principles; their morality is faulty; their 


140 


ZENOBIA. 


spirit narrow and exclusive; and more than all, they are 
without authority. The principles which are to guide, con- 
trol, and exalt our nature, it seems to me, must proceed 
from the author of that nature. The claim of Christianity 
to be a religion provided for man by the Creator of man, is 
the feature in it which draws me toward it. This claim I 
shall investigate and scan, with all the ability and learning 
I can bring to the work. But whatever I or you may think 
of it, or ultimately determine, every eye must see with 
what giant steps it is striding onward— temples, religions, 
superstitions, and powers crumbling and dissolving at its 
approach. Farewell. 


LETTER VIII. 

The words of that Christian recluse, my Curtius, still 
ring in my ear. I know not how it is, but there is a 
strange power in all that I have heard from any of that 
sect. You remember how I was struck by the manner, 
the countenance, and above all by the sentiments of Pro- 
bus, the Christian whom I encountered on his way to 
Carthage. A still stronger fellmg possesses me, when I 
hear the same things from the lips of Julia. It seems as 
if she herself, and the religion she discourses of, must pro- 
ceed from the same author. She is certainly a divine 
work. And there is such an alliance between her and 
those truths, that I am ready almost to believe that for this 
reason alone they must have that very divine origin which 
is claimed for them. Is there anything in our Roman 
superstitions, or philosophy even, that is at all kindred to 
the spirit of a perfect woman?— any thing suited to her 
nature? Has it ever seemed as if woman were in any re- 
spect the care of the gods? In this, Christianity differs 
from all former religions and philosophies. It is feminine. 

I do not mean by that, weak or effeminate. But in its 
gentleness, m the suavity of its tone, in the humanity of 
its doctrines, in the deep loves it breathes toward all of 
human kind, in the high rank it assigns to the virtues 
which are peculiarly those of woman, in these things and 

many others, it is throughout for them as well as for us 

almost more for them than for us. In this feature of it 
so strange and new, I see marks of a wisdom beyond that 


ZE^rOBIA. 


141 


of any hiiip an fabricator. A human inventor would scarcely 
have conceived such a system; and could he have conceived 
it, would not have dared to publish it. It would have been 
in his judgement to have wantonly forfeited the favor of 
i the world. The author of Christianity, with a divine bold- 
; ness, makes his perfect man, in the purity and beauty of 
! his character, the counterpart of a perfect woman. The 
I virtues upon which former teachers have chiefly dwelt, are 
by him almost unnoticed, and those soft and feminine 
I ones, which others seem to have utterly forgotten, he has 
exalted to the highest place. So that, as I before said, 
Julia discoursing to me of Christianity is in herself, in the 
exact accordance between her mind and heart and that 
faith, the strongest argument I have yet found of its truth. 
I do not say that I am a believer. I am not. But I can 
I not say what the effect may be of a few more interviews 
with the hermit of the mountain, in company with the 
princess. His arguments, illustrated by her presence, will 
carry with them not a little force. 

When, after our interview with the Christian, we had 
I returned to the Queen^s villa, we easily persuaded ourselves 
that the heat of the day was too great for us to set out, till 
I toward the close of it, for the city. So we agreed, in the 
I absence of the Queen and other guests, to pass the day 
: after our own manner, and by ourselves. The princess 
proposed that we should confine ourselves to the cool re- 
treats near the fountain of the Elephant, made also more 
agreeable to us than any other place by the delightful 
hours we had sat there listening to the melodious accents 
of the great Longinus. To this proposal we quickly and 
gladly assented. Our garments being then made to cor- 
respond to the excessive heats of the season, soothed by 
the noise of the falling waters, and fanned by slaves who 
waved to and fro huge leaves of the palm-tree, cut into 
graceful forms, and set in gold or ivory, we resigned our- 
selves to that sleepy but yet delicious state which we reach 
only a few times in all our lives, when the senses are per- 
fectly satisfied and filled, and merely to live is bhss enough. 
But our luxurious ease was slightly diversified with addi- 
tions and changes no ways unwelcome. Ever and anon 
slaves entered, bearing trays laden with every rare and 
curious confection which the art of the East supplies, but 
especially with drinks cooled by snow brought from the 


U2 


2EK0BIA. 


mountains of India. These, in the most agreeable man- 
ner, recruited our strength when exhausted by fits of mer- 
riment, or when one had become weary of reading or recit- 
ing a story for the amusement of the others, and the others 
as weary, or more weary, by listening. It were in vain to 
attempt to recall for your and Lucilia’s entertainment the 
many pleasant things which were both said and done on 
this day never to be forgotten. And besides, perhap's, were 
they set down in order and sent to Rome, the spicy flavor 
which gave life to them here might nil exhale, and leave 
them flat and dull. Suffice it therefore to say, that in our 
judgment many witty and learned sayings were uttered — 
xor the learning, that must rest upon our declaration — for 
the wit, the slaves will bear witness to it, as they did then 
by their unrestrained bursts of laughter. "" 

It was with no little reluctance that, as the last rays of 
the sun fell upon the highest Jet of the fountain, we heard 
the princess declare that the latest hour had come, and we 
must fain prepare for the city. A little time sufficed for 
this, and we were soon upon our horses threading the de- 
files among the hills, or flying over the plains. A few 
hours brought us within the gates of the city. Leavino- 
^uJia at the palace of the Queen, we turned toward the 
house of Gracchus. Its lofty front soon rose before us. 
As we passed into the court-yard, the first sound that 
greeted me was Milovs blundering voice: Welcome, most 
noble Galhenus, welcome again to Palmyra!"" 

•u emperor yet, but not- 

withstanding, I am glad to be in Palmyra — more olad to 
be at the house of Gracchus— and glad most of all to see 
Gracchiis himself at home, and well ""—the noble Roman 
as I shall call him— at that moment issuing from a door 
ot the palace, and descending at a quick pace the steps, to 
assist Fausta from her horse. ^ 

separated; but to those 
who really love, the shortest separation is a long one, and 
the quickest return an occasion of joy."" Saving so he 

corfMlfmy ha“ 

“ Come,” added lie, “ enter and repose. Your ride has 

?reat“ +T ‘declare, and tlie heat is 

there sit and rest ” ® as the coolest, and 

mere sit and rest. So we were again soon within that 


ZENOBIA. 


143 


graceful apartment, where I had first sat and tasted the 
hospitalities of Palmyra. The gods above were still at 
their feast, drinking or drunken. Below, we sat at the 
open windows, and with more temperance regaled our- 
selves with the cool air that came to us, richly laden with 
the fragrance of surrounding flowers, and with that social 
I converse that is more inspiring than Falernian, or the soft 
' Palmyrene. After talking of other things, Gracchus ad- 
dressed me saying: 

“ But is it not now time, Lucius, that a letter at least came 
from Isaac? I have forborne to inquire, from time to 
time, as I would do nothing to add to your necessary anxi- 
ety. It surely now however is right to consider the steps 
next to be taken, if he shall have failed in his enterprise. 

“ Isaac and Oalpurnius,"" I replied, “ are never absent 
from my thoughts, and I have already resolved— the gods 
willing and favoring — that when a period of sufficent 
length shall have elapsed, and the Jew does not appear, 
having either perished on the way or else in the capital of 
the Great King — myself to start, as I at first designed to 
do, upon this expedition, and either return with my 
brother, or else die also in the endeavor. Seek not, 
Pausta, as I perceive you are about to do, to turn me from 
my purpose. It w^l be — it. ought to be — in vain. lean 
consent no longer to live thus in the very heart of life, 
while this cloud of uncertainty hangs over the fate of one 
so near to me. Though I should depute the service of his 
rescue to a thousand others, my own inactivity is insup- 
portable, and reproaches me like a crime. 

“ I was not, as you supposed, Lucius, replied Pausta, 
about to draw you away from your purpose, but, on the 
contrary, to declare my approbation of it. Were I Lucius, 
my thoughts would be, I am sure, what yours now are; 
and to-morrow^s sun would light me on the way to Ecba- 
tana. Kay, father, I would not wait a day longer. Woman 
though I am, I am almost ready to offer myself a compan- 
ion of our friend on this pious service. 

“ I shall not,"" said Gra-cchus, “ undertake to dissuade 
our friend from what seems now to be his settled purpose. 
Yet still, for our sakes, for the sake of the aged Portia, 
and all in Eome, I could wish— supposing Isaac should fail 
— that one more attempt might be made in the same way, 
ere so much is put at hazard. It needs no great penetra- 


lU 


ZEKOBIA. 


tion to see how highly prized by Persia must be the pos- 
session of such a trophy of her prowess as the head of the 
ancient house of Piso — with what jealousy his every move- 
ment would be watched, and what danger must wait upon 
any attempt at his deliverance. Moreover, while a mere 
hireling might if detected, have one chance among a thou- 
sand of pardon and escape, even that were wanting to you. 
Another Piso would be either another footstool of the Per- 
sian despot, while life should last, or else he would swing 
upon a Persian gibbet, and so would perish the last of a 
noble name.'’^ 

‘ I can not deny that reason is on your side,^'’ I said, in 
reply to this strong case of G-racchus, “ but feeling is on 
mine, and the contest is never an equal one. Peeling is, 
perhaps, the essence of reason, of which no account need 
or can be given, and ought to prevail. But however this 
may be, I feel that l am right, and so I must act.^^ 

nothing else,"" said Pausta, 
than that before another day is ended, we shall get in- 
telligence of Isaac. Have you, Lucius, inquired, since vour 
return, of Demetrius?"" 

“ Milo is now absent on that very errand,"" I replied, 
and here he is, giving no signs of success. "" 

Milo at the same moment entered the hall, and stated 
that Demetrius was himself absent from the city, but was 
every moment expected, and it was known that he had been 
seeking anxiously— the preceding day — for me. While 
Milo was yet speaking, a messenger was announced, in- 
quiring for me, and before I could reach the extremity of 
the apartment, Demetrius himself entered the room in 
haste, brandishing in his hand a letter, which he knew 
well to be from Isaac. 


^ Tis his own hand,"" said he. The form of his let- 
ters IS not to be mistaken. Hot even the hand of Deme- 
trius can cut with more grace the Greek character. Ob- 
seiwe, Roman, the fashion of his touch. Isaac would have 
guided a rare hand at the graving tool. But these Jews 
shun the nicer arts. They are a strange people."" 

“ Quickly,"" said I, interrupting the voluble Greek, ‘‘ as 
you love the goas, deliver to me the letter! By and by we 
will discourse of these things ""-and seizing the epistle, I 
lan with it to another apartment, first to devour it myself. 

1 can not tell you, dear friends, with what eagerness I 


ZEi^OBlA. 


145 


Irank in the contents of the letter, and with what ecstasy 
I of joy I leaped and shouted at the news it brought. In 
one word, my brother lives, and it is possible that before 
this epistle to you shall be finished, he himself will sit at 
my side. But to put you in possession of the whole case, 
I shall transcribe for you the chief parts of Isaac^s careful 
and minute account, preserving for your amusement much 
of what in no way whatever relates to the affair in hand, 
and is useful only as it will present a sort of picture of one 
of this strange tribe. As soon as I had filled myself with 
I its transporting contents, I hastened to the hall where I 
S had left Fausta and Gracchus, to whom — Demetrius hav- 
j ing in the meantime taken his departure — I quickly com- 
\ municated its intelhgence, and received their hearty con- 
[ gratulations, and then read it to them very much as I now 
[ transcribe it for you. You will now acknowledge my 
I obligation to this kind-hearted Jew, and will devoutly bless 
1 the gods for my accidental encounter with him on board 
the Mediterranean trader. Here now is the letter itself. 

Isaac, the Son of Isaac of Rome, to the most nolle Man- 
lius Piso, at Palmyra: 

That I am alive, Eoman, after the perils of my journey, 
and the worse peril’s of this Pagan city, can be ascribed to 
nothing else than the protecting arm of the God of our 
nation. It is new evidence to me, that somewhat is yet to 
be achieved by my ministry, for the good of my country. 
That I am here in this remote and benighted region, that 
I should have adventured hither in the service of a Roman 
to save one Roman life, when, were the power mine, I 
would cut off every Roman life, from the babe at the breast 
to the silver head, and lay waste the king of the great 
Mother of Iniquity with fire and sword, is to me a thing so 
wonderful, that I refer it all to the pleasure of that Power, 
who orders events according to a plan and wisdom im- 
penetrable by us. Think not, Roman, that I have jour- 
nejed so far for the sake of thy two talents of gold — 
though that is considerable. And the mention of this 
draws my mind to a matter, overlooked in the stipulations 
entered into between thee and me, at my dwelling in Pal- 
myra. Singular, that so weighty a part of that transaction 
should have been taken no note of! Now I must trust it 
wholly to thee, Piso, and feel that I may safely do so. In 


146 


ZENOBIA. 


case of my death, the double of the recompense agreed 
upon was to be paid, in accordance with directions left. 
But what was to be done in case of thy death? Why, 
most thoughtful Isaac — most prudent of men — for this 
thou didst make no provision! And yet may not Piso die 
as well as Isaac? Has a Roman more lives than a Jew? 
Nay, how know I but thou art now dead, and no one living 
to do me justice? See to this, excellent Roman. Thou 
wouldst not have me go unrequited for all this hazard and 
toil. Let thy heirs bound, by sure and legal instru- 
ments, to make good to me all thou hast bound thyself to 
pay. Do this, and thy gods and my God prosper thee! 
Forget it not. ^ Let it be done as soon as these words are 
read. Demetrius will show thee one who will draw up a 
writing in agreement with both the Palmyrene and Roman " 
Law. Unheard of heedlessness! But this I thought not 
about till I took my pen to write. 

What was I saying?-— that I came not for thy gold — 
that is, not for that solely or chiefly. For what, and why, 
then? Because, as I have hinted, I felt myself driven by • 
an invisible power to this enterprise. I wait with patience 
to know what its issue is to be. 

Now let me inform thee of my journey and my doings. 
But first, in one brief word let me relieve thy impatience 
by saying, I think thy brother is to be rescued! No more 
of this at present, but all in order. When I parted from 
thee that night, I had hardly formed my plan, though my 
mind, quick in all its workings, did suddenly conceive one i 
way in which it appeared possible to compass the desired 
object.. Perhaps you will deem it a piece of rashness i 
rather than of courage so quickly to undertake your affair. ^ 
I should call it so too, did I not also catch dimly in the 
depths of the Heavens the form of the finger of God. This 1 
tiiou wilt not and canst not understand. It is be 3 ^ond ' 
thee. Is it not so? But, Roman, I trust the day is to i 
come when by my mouth, if not by another's, thou shalt '] 
hear enough to understand that truth is to be found no- 1 
where but in Moses. Avoid Probus. I fear me he is J 
already in Palmyra. There is more cunning in him than I 
is good. With that deep face and serene air he deceives J 
many. All I say is, shun him. To be a Roman un- I 
believer is better than to be a Christian heretic. But to I 
my journey. m 


ZENOBIA. 


147 


! The morning after I parted from thee saw me issuing 
! at an early hour from the Persian Gate, and with my 
i single Ethiopian slave bearing toward the desert. I took 
j with me but a light bale of merchandise, that I might not 
I burden my good dromedary. Than mine, there is not a 
I fleeter in the whole East. One nearly as good, and at a 
' huge price, did I purchase for my slave. •’Twas too sud- 
<■ denly bought to be cheaply bought. But I was not cozened. 

; It proved a rare animal. I think there lives not a man in 
ij Palmyra or Damascus who could blind Isaac. I deter- 
i! mined to travel at the greatest speed we and our beasts 
<1 could bear, so we avoided as far as we could the heats of 
1 day, and rode by night. The first day being through the 
K peopled regions of the Queens’s dominions, and through a 
iii cultivated country, we traveled at our ease; and not u:_- 
I frequently at such places as I saw promised well, did we 
stop, and wliile our good beasts regaled themselves upon 
the rich herbage or richer grain, trafficked. In this I 
surely erred not. For losing, as I have done by this distant 
and unwonted route, the trade of Ctesiphon, ^twas just, was 
it not, that to the extent possible, without great obstruc- 
J tion thrown in the way of your affairs, I should repair the 
■ evil of that loss? Truth to speak, it was only because my 
eye foresaw some such profitings on the way, that I made 
myself contented with but two gold talents of Jerusalem. 
Two days were passed thus, and on the third we entered 
upon a barren region — barren as where the prophet found 
no food but such as birds from Heaven brought him. But 
why speak of this to thee? 0 , that thou wouldst but once, 
only once, sit at the feet of that man of God, Simon Ben 
Gorah! Solomon was not more wise. His words 'aJ 
arrows with two heads from a golden bow. His reasons 
weigh as the mountains of Lebanon. They break and 
(Crush all on whom they fall. Would, Roman, they might 
:sometime fall on thee! The third day we were on this 
barren region, and the next fairly upon the desert. Now 
did we reap the benefit of our good beasts. The heat was 
like that of the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, out of which 
three children, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came, 
through the power of God, unscorched. And moreover, 
they were soon put to an unwonted and unlooked for bur- 
den, and in such a manner as, to thy wonder, I shall relate. 

! It was a day the air of which was like the air of that fur- 


148 


ZEKOBIA. 


nace — burning — burning hot. Death was written upon, 

the whole face of the visible earth. Where leaves had 
been, there were none now, or they crumbled into ashes as 
the hand touched them. The atmosphere, when moved by 
the wind, brought not, as it used to do, a greater coolness, 
but a fiercer heat. It was. full of flickering waves that 
danced up and down with a quivering motion, and dazzled 
and blinded the eye that looked upon them. And the sand 
was not like that which for the most part is met on that 
desert stretching from the Mediterranean to Palmyra, 
and of which thou hast had some experience — heavy, and 
hard, and seamed with cracks — but fine, and light, and 
raised into clouds by every breath of wind, and driven iiito 
the skin like points of needles. When the wind, as fre- 
quently it did, blew with violence, we could only stop and 
bury our faces in our garments, our poor beasts cr 3 dng out ^ 
with pain. It was on such a day, having, because there ; 
was not place of rest, been obliged to endure all the noon- j 
day heat, that, when the sun was at the highest and we ^ 
looked eagerly ev^ery way for even a dry and leafless bush I 
that we might crouch down beneath its shade, we saw at a : 
distance before us the tall trunk of a cedar, bleached to 
ivory, and twinkling like a pharos under the hot rays. We j 
slowly approached it, Hadad, my Ethiopian, knowing it 
as one of the pillars of the desert. 

‘‘There it has stood and shone a thousand years, said j 
he; “ and but for such marks, who could cross these seas li 
of sand, where your foot-mark is lost as soon as made?" \ 
After a few moments^ pause, he again exclaimed: “ And 
by the beard of holy Abraham! a living human being sits 
at the root — or else mayhap my eyes deceive me, and see 
only the twisted roots of the tree. " .j 

“ "Tis too far for my eyes to discern but the blasted ^ 
trunk. No living creature can dwell here. ^Tis the I 
region of death only.^" j 

^ A blast of the desert struck us at the moment, and well j 
nigh buried us in its rushing whirlwind of sand. We stood 1 
still, closed our eyes, and buried our faces in the fold of S 
our garments. j| 

“ Horrible and out of nature!"^ I cried— “ the sun blaz- J 
ing without a cloud as big as a locust to dim his ray, and I 
yet these gusts, like the raging of a tempest. The winds M 


ZEKOBIA. 


149 


surely rise. Providence be our guide out of this valley of 
fire and death 

‘‘There is no providence here/^ said the slave, “nor 
anywhere; else why these savage and dreary deserts, which 
must be crossed, and yet we die in doing it. 

“ Hold thy peace, blasphemer I could not but rejoin, 
“ and take heed lest thy impious tongue draw down a 
whirlwind of God to the destruction of us both.^^ 

“ The curse of Arimanes^^ — began the irritated slave — 
when suddenly he paused, and cried out in another tone: 
“ Lookl look! Isaac, and see now for thyself: I am no 
Jew, if there sit not a woman at the root of yonder tree.^^ 

I looked, and now that we had drawn nearer, and the 
wind had subsided for an instant, I plainly beheld the form 
of a woman, bent over as if in the act of holding and de- 
fending an infant. I believed it a delusion of Satan. 

“It is awful/^ said I; “but let us hasten; if it be a 
reality, our coming must be as the descent of angels. 

I pressed on my weary animal, and in a few moments 
we stood before what seemed indeed a human being, of 
flesh and bone — and what was more wonderful still, a wom- 
an. Yet she stirred not, nor gave other sign of life. “ Is 
the breath of life yet in you?’^ I cried out — not doubting, 
however, that whoever it was, death had already released 
her from her misery — and at the same time laid my hand 
upon her shoulder. At which she started, and lifting up 
her head, the very ghastliness of death stamped upon every 
feature, she shrieked: “ I drown! I drown! Hassan, save 
me!^^ and her head fell again upon her knees. 

“ Poor fool,^"* said I, “ thou art upon the sands of the 
desert, and thou dreamest: awake! — awake! — and here is 
water for thee — real water. ” 

At which she waked indeed, with a convulsive start, and 
while with one hand she held fast her child — for a child 
was indeed laid away among the folds of her garments — 
with the other she madly grasped the small cup I held out 
to her, and tearing aside the covering from the face of the 
infant, she forced open its mouth, and poured in some of 
the water we gave her, watching its effect. Soon as the 
little one gave signs of life, she drank the remainder at a 
draught, crying out, “ More! more!^^ Our water, of which 
we had as yet good store, though hot as the wind itself, 
quickly restored both mother and child. 


150 


ZENOBIA. 


“ And nov\^ tell me, miserable woman, wbat direful 
chance has brought and left thee here? — but hasten — 
speak quickly as thou canst — and dost thou look for any 
one to come to thy relief?"’"’ 

“ Eobbers of the desert,^^ said she, have either mur- 
dered or carried into slavery my husband, and destroyed 
and scattered the caravan of which we made a part. I am 
alone in the desert; and I know of no relief but such as 
you can give. Leave us not, if you are men, to perish in 
these burning sands 

“ Fear not that I will leave you,^"’ said I: ‘‘ what I can 
spare, shall freely be thine. But time is precious, for we 
are yet but midway the desert, and the signs of the heavens 
portend wind and whirlwind: hasten then and mount the " 
dromedary of my slave, while I upon mine bear — as 
stronger than thou — the child. 

‘‘ Isaac, here muttered Hadad, in an under-tone, art 
^hou mad?^ Is thy reason wholly gone? It is scarcely to 
be hoped that we alone may cross in safety what remains 
of the desert, beset as we are by these sweeping gusts, and 
wilt thou oppress our fainting beasts with this new bur- 
den?'^ 

Thou accursed of God! wouldst thou leave these here " 
to perish? I believed not before that out of hell there 
could be so black a soul. Bring down thy dromedary. One ‘ 
word of hesitancy, and thy own carcass shall bleach upon 
the sands. j 

I knew well who I was dealing with — that I was safe \ 
from immediate violence, though not from ultimate re- j 
venge. j 

Hadad then drew up his beast, which kneeling received 1 
the woman, while I took in my arms the child. We then 1 
set forward at an increased pace, to reach before night, if 
possible, the “ place of springs,^ ^ where a small green spot, ] 
watered by fountains wliich never fail, blesses these inhos- - 
pitable plains. 

Not a cloud was to be seen in all the compass of the ■ 
heavens, yet the winds raged. The blueness of the sky 
was gone, and the whole inflamed dome above us was rather ‘ 
of the color of molten brass, the sun being but its brightest ^ 
and hottest spot. At a distance we saw clouds of sand 
whirled aloft, and driven fiercely eve*' the boundless plain, ^ 


ZENOBIA. 


151 


any one of which, it seemed to us, if it should cross our 
path, would bury us under its moving mass. We pressed 
on, trembling and silent through apprehension. The blood 
in my veins seemed hotter than the sand, or the sun that 
beat upon my face. Eoman, thou canst form no concep- 
tion of the horrors of this day. But for my faith, I should 
have utterly failed. What could st thou have done.^^ — nay, 
or the Christian Probus? But I will not taunt thee. I 
will rather hope. The wind became more and more vio- 
lent. The sand was driven before it like chaff. Sometimes 
the tempest immediately around us would abate, but it 
only served to fill us with new apprehensions, by revealing 
to us the tossings of this great deep, in the distance. At 
one of these moments, as I was taking occasions to speak 
a word of comfort to the half-dead mother, and cherish 
the little one whom I bore, a sound of the roar of ocean 
caught my ear — more awful than aught I had yet heard — 
and at the same time a shriek and a shout from Hadad, 
‘‘ God of Israel, save us! The sand! the sand!^' 

I looked in the direction of the sound, and there in the 
south it looked — God, how terrible to behold! — as if the 
whole plain were risen up, and were about to fall upon us. 

“ ^Tis vain to fiy!^^ I cried aloud to Hadad, who was 
urging his animal to its utmost speed. “ Let us perish 
together. Besides, observe the heaviest and thickest of the 
cloud is in advance of us. 

The mother of the child cried out, as Hadad insanely 
hastened on, for her offspring, to whom I answered: 
“ Trust the young Ishmael to me — fear me not — cleave to 
the dromedary. 

Hardly were the words spoken, when the whirlwind 
struck us. We were dashed to the earth as we had been 
weeds. My senses were for a time lost in the confusion 
and horror of the scene. I only knew that I had been torn 
from my dromedary — borne along and buried by the sand 
— and that the young child was still in my arms. In the 
first moment of consciousness, I found myself struggling 
to free myself from the sand which was heaped around and 
over me. In this, after a time, I succeeded, and in restor- 
ing to animation the poor child, choked and blinded, yet 
— wonderful indeed — not dead. I then looked around for 
Hadad and the woman, but they were nowhere to be seen. 
I shouted aloud, but there was no answer. The sand had 


152 


ZENOBIA. 


now fallen — the wind had died away — and no sound met 
my ear, but the distant rumbling of the retreating storm. 
I^ot far from me, my own dromedary stood, partly buried 
in sand, and vainly endeavoring to extricate himself. With 
my aid, this was quickly affected. I was soon upon his 
back. But I knew not which way to turn. My depend- 
ence was upon Hadad, familiar with the route. The sun 
however had declined sensibly toward the west — I knew 
that my general direction was toward the east and north, 
so that with some certainty as to the true path, I sorrow- 
fully recommenced my journey. Have I not thy pity, 
Roman? Has a worse case ever come to thy ear? I will 
not distress thee by reciting my sufferings all the way to 
the “ place of springs, which by the next morning, 
plodding on wearily though the night, 1 safely reached. 

There one of the first objects that greeted me, was Ha- 
dad and the mother of my Ishmael. I approached them 
unobserved, as they sat on the border of the spring, in the 
midst of other travelers, some of whom I saw were com- 
forting the wailing Hagar — and, without a word, dropped 
the young child into the lap of its mother. Who shall de- 
scribe the transports of her joy? ^Twas worth, Piso, the 
journey and all its hazards. 

How refreshing it was to lie here on the cool soil, beneath 
the shade of the grateful palm, enjoying every moment of 
existence, and repairing the injuries the journey had in- 
flicted upon ourselves^ and our beasts! Two days passed in 
this manner. While'here, Hadad related what befell him 
after our separation. Owing to his urging on his animal 
in that mad way, at the time I called out to him, instead 
of stopping or retreating, he was further within the heart 
of the cloud than I, and was more rudely handled. 

“ Soon as the blast fell upon us,^^ said he, “ that in- 
stant was my reason gone. I knew nothing for I can not 
tell how long. But when I came to myself, and found that 
I was not in the place of the wicked — whereat I rejoiced 
and was amazed — I discovered, on looking round, that my 
good dromedary, whom I could ill spare, was dead and 
buried, and your Hagar, whom I could have so well spared, 
alive and weeping for her lost boy. I made her, with 
difficulty, comprehend that time was precious, and that 
strength would be impaired by weeping and wailing. 
Knowing at once in what direction to travel— after search-, 


ZEIfOBlA. 


153 

ing in vain for thee--we set out upon a journey, which, on 
toot, beneath a burning sun, and without water, there was 
small hope of accomplishing. I looked with certainty to 
die m the desert. But Oromasdes was my protector. See 
Isaac, the advantage of a little of many faiths. We had 
not traveled far among the hillocks, or hills rather, of 
sand which we found piled up in our way, and completely 
altering the face of the plain, before, to our amazement 
and our ^oy, we discovered a camel, without a rider or bur- 
den, coming toward us. I secured him without difficulty. 

. At a little distance, we soon saw another; and by and by 
we found that we were passing over the graves of a caravan, 

^ the whole or chief part of which had been overwhelmed by 
I the storm. Here was a body partly out of the sand, there 
I the head or leg of a dromedary or camel. Kuin and death 
I seemed to have finished their work. But it was not quite 
! so. For presently on reaching the summit of a wave of 
i sand, we discerned a remnant mounted upon the beasts 
that had been saved, making in the same direction, and 
probably the same point, as ourselves. We joined them, 
and partaking ol their water, were recruited, and so reached 
this place alive. It is now from here,"’ he added, ‘'a 
safe and easy road to Ecbatana.” 

So we found it. But confess now, noble Piso, if in thy 
judgment it would have been exorbitant if I had required 
of thee three talents of Jerusalem instead of two? For 
what wouldst thou cross that molten sea, and be buried 
under its fiery waves? It is none other than a miracle that 
I am here alive in Ecbatana. And for thee I fear that 
miracle would not have been wrought. Hadst thou been 
in my place the sands of the desert were now thy dwelling- 
place. Yet have I again to tempt those horrors. Being 
here, I must return. The dromedary of my slave Hadad 
was worth a hundred aurelians. A better or a fleeter never 
yet was in the stables of Zenobia. And dost thou know, 
Eoman, how curious the Queen is in horses and dromeda- 
ries? There can not a rare one of either kind enter the 
walls of Palmyra, but he is straightway bought up for the 
service of Zenobia. The swiftest in the East are hers. 
"Twas my purpose, returning, to have drawn upon Hadad "s 
beast the notice of the Queen. Doubtless I should have 
: sold it to her, and two hyndred aurelians is the very least I 
I should have asked or taken for her. To no other than 


154 


ZEKOBIA. 


Zenobia would I have parted with her for less than three 
hundred. But alas! her bones are on the desert. But 
why, you ask, should I have so favored Zenobia? It is no 
wonder you ask. And in answer, I tell thee perhaps a 
secret. Zenobia is a Jewess! Eeceive it or not, as thou 
wilt — she is a Jewess — and her heart is tender toward our 
tribe. I do not say, mark me, that she is one by descent, 
nor that she is so much as even a proselyte of the Gate, but 
that she believes in some sort Moses and the prophets, and 
reads our sacred books. These things I know well from 
those who have bden near her. But who ever heard that 
she has been seen to read the books of the Christians! Pro- 
bus will not dare to assert it. ■’Tis not more public that 
Longinus himself is inclined to our faith — by my head, I 
doubt not that he is more than inclined — than Tis that 
Zenobia is. If our Messiah should first of all gird on the 
sword of Palmyra, what Jew, whose sight is better than a 
mole^s, woiild be surprised? My father — may his sleep be 
svveet! whose beard came lower than his girdle, and whose 
wisdom was famous throughout the East, built much upon 
what he knew of the Queen, and her great minister, and 
used to say, “ That another Barchochab would arise in 
Palmj^ra, whom it would require more than another Ha- 
drian to hinder in his way to empire; and that if horses ■ 
again swam in blood, as once at Bither, ^twould be in 
Homan blood."" AVho am I, to deny truth and likelihood >•] 
to the words of one in whom dwelt the wisdom of Solo- '4 
mon and the meekness of lotoses, the faith of Abraham, the I 
valor of Gideon, and the patience of Job? I rather main- M 
tain their truth. And in tlie features of the present time, j 
I read change and revolution — war, and uproar, and ruin i 
—the falling of kingdoms that have outlasted centuries, ' 
and the uprising of others that shall last for other centu- 
ries. I see the Queen of the East at battle with the Em- 
peror of Home, and through her victories deliverance 
wrought out for Israel, and the throne of Judah once more 
erected within the walls of Jerusalem! How dost thou, 
Piso, understand, I suppose, not one word of all this" 
How shouldst thou? But I trust thou wilt. Surely now ' 
you will say, ‘‘ What is all this to the purpose?"" Hot - 
much to any present purpose,. I confess, freely; and I should 
not marvel greatly if thou wert to throw this letter down ' 
and trample it in the dust — as Rome has done by Judea 


ZEl^-OBIA. 


155 


but that thou lookest to hear of thy brother. Well, now 
I will tell thee of him. 

When we drew near to the capital of the Great Kinff, 
wishing to enrage Hadad, I asked, ‘‘ What mud-walled vil- 
lage is it that we see yonder over the plain Thou should st 
have seen the scowl of his eye — answer he gave none. I spit 
upon such a city — I cast out my shoe upon it! I who have 
dwelt at Rome, Carthage, Antioch, and Palmyra, may 
be allowed to despise a place like this. There are but two 
things that impress the beholder— the Palace of Sapor, 
and the Temple of Mithras, near it. These truly would 
be noted even in Palmyra. Kot that in the building any 
rule or order of art is observed, but that the congregation 
of strange and fptastic. trickery — some whereof, it can 
not be gainsaid, is of rare beauty — is so vast that one is 
pleased with it as he is with the remembrance of the won- 
derful combinations of a dream. 

Soon as we entered the gates of the city, I turned to the 
woman whom we brought from the desert, and who rode 
the camel with Hadad, and said to her: “ First of all, 
Hagar, we take thee to those who are of thy kindred, or to 
thy friends, and well may they bless the good providence 
of God that they see thee. "Twas a foul deed of thy hus- 
band, after the manner of the patriarch, to leave thee and 
thy little one to perish on the burning sands of the desert. 

“ Good Jew,-’^ she replied, ‘‘ my name is not Hagar, nor 
did my husband leave me willingly. I tell thee we were 
set upon by robbers, and Hassan, my poor husband, was 
either killed, or carried away no one can tell whither. 

“No matter — names are of little moment. To me, thou 
art Hagar, and thy little one here is Ishmael — and if thou 
wilt, Ishamel shall be mine. I will take him and rear him 
as mine — he shall be rich — and thou shalt be rich, and 
dwell where thou wilt.'’ •’ The child, Roman, had wound itself 
all around my heart. He was of three years or more, and, 
feature for feature answered to the youngest of my own, 
long since lost, and now in Abrahams’s bosom. But it was 
not to be as I wished. All the mother rushed into the face 
of the woman. 

“ Good Jew,^^ she cried, “ the God of Heaven will re- 
ward thee for thy mercy shown to us; but hadst thou saved 
my life a thousand times, I could not pay thee with my 


156 


ZEKOBIA. 


child. I am poor^ and have naught to give thee but my 
thanks. 

I will see thee again/’ said I to the widow of Hassan, 
as we set her down in the street where her kinsfolk dwelt, 

“ if thou wilt allow me. Receive thy child. 

^ The child smiled as I kissed him and gave him again to 
his mother. It was the smile of Joseph. I could at that 
moment almost myself have become a robber of the desert, 
and taken what the others had left. 

We here parted, and Hadad and myself bent our way to 
the house of Levi, a merchant well known to Hadad, and, 
who, he assured me, would gladly receive us. His shop, 
as we entered it, seemed well stored with the richest 
goods, but the building of which it made a part promised 
not very ample lodgings. But the hospitable welcome of 
the aged Levi promised better. ‘ 

‘‘ Welcome every true son of Israel, said he, as we drew 
near where in a remoter part of the large apartment he sat 
busy at his books of account. Make yourselves at home 
beneath the roof of Levi. Follow me and find more private 
quarters.-’^ 

So, leaving Hadad and the camels to the care of those 
whom our host summoned, I followed him as desired to 
another part of the dwelling. It now seemed spacious 
enough. After winding about among narrow and dark 
passages, we at length came to large and well-furnished 
rooms, apparently quite remote from the shop, and far re- 
moved from the street. Here we seated ourselves, and I 
unfolded to Levi the nature of my business. He listened, 
wondered, smiled, shook his head, and made a thousand 
contrary movements and signs. When I had done, he com- ' 
forted and instructed me after this manner. 

‘‘ Something like a fooFs errand. Yet the pay is good 
that can not be doubted. It had been better, I think ■ 
for thee to have followed thy trade in Palmyra or Ctesi- 1 
phon. Yet perhaps this may turn out well. The prom- 4 
ised sum IS large. Who can tell? ^Tis worth a risk. Yet I 
n, in taking the risk, one loses his head, it were a mad en- i 
terprise. Verily, I can say nothing but that time will dis- i 
close it, and the event prove it. A thing is not seen all at I 
once, and the eye can not at once reach every part of a 1 
ball. Wait with patience, and God shall show it. M 

I saw that nothing was to be got frona this prophet, I 


ZEKOBIA, 


157 

Tet perhaps he knew facts. So I asked him of Hormis- 
das and Sapor, and if he knew aught of the Roman Piso, 
held a strict prisoner in Ecbatana. 

“ A prisoner, say you?^" he replied, beginning at the 
end of my question; “ how can a Persian &trap be called 
i a prisoner? He dwells in the palace of Hormisdas, and 
when seen abroad, rides upon a horse whose harness is 
jeweled like the princess, and his dress moreover is of the 
richest stuffs, and altogether Persian. "Tis forgotten by 
most that he is any other than a native Persian. 

Is he ever seen to ride alone I asked. 

‘‘ Why the question? I know not. Who should know 
who rides alone and who in company? When I have seen 
him, it has always been in the train of others.^'’ 

“ I thought as much. Doubtless he goes abroad well 
guarded. His companions, Levi, I doubt are little better 
than jailers?^'' 

! Levi opened his eyes, but it was to no purpose; they can 
1 uee no other thing clearly, save a Persian coin. 

I found, upon further inquiry, that it was even as I had 
isupposed and had heard. Galpurnius lives in the palace of 
Hormisdas, and is his chosen companion and frieud, but is 
allowed by Sapor no liberty of movement, and wherever he 
goes is attended by persons appointed to guard him. Nor 
have the many years that he has been here caused this vigi- 
lance in any degree to relax. All outward honor is shown 
I him, except by the king, who, had he not, in the time of 
I Valerian, passed his word to the prince his son, and fully 
i surrendered Piso into his hands, would, it is believed, 
i even now use him as he did the unhappy emperor. But 
' he is safe in the keeping of the prince. And the guard 
' about him, it is my present suspicion, is as much to defend 
! him against any sudden freak of the king or his satellites, 
as it IS to prevent his escape. The least that could hap- 
pen to any Roman falling into Sapor'^s power would be to 
be flayed alive. My safety will lie in my being known only 
as a Jew, not as a dweller in Rome. 

And now, Roman, thou desirest to know in what manner 
I mean to accomplish the deliverance of thy brother. It 
is thus. Commend the cunning of it. My Ethiopian slave 
is then — ^I must tell thee to thine amazement — no Ethiop- 
ian and no slave! He is one of my own tribe whom I have 
many times employed in difficult affairs^ and having often 


158 


ZENOBIA. 


conferred upon him the most essential favors, have hound 
him to my will. Him I am to leave here, being first 
cleansed of the deep dye with which by my art — and what 
art is it I am not familiar with? — I have stained his skin to 
the darkest hue of the African, and then in his place, and 
stained to the same hue, am I to take thy brother, and so 
with security and in broad day walk through the gates of 
Ecbatana. ^ Is it to be thought of that I should fail? All 
will rest with Calpurnius. If, in the first place, he shall 
be willing to return, and then, in the next place, shall con- 
sent to submit to this momentary and only apparent de- 
gradation, the issue is as certain to be happy, as the means 
shall be tried. My head never set with a sense of more 
security upon my shoulders, than now, while planning and 
putting into execution this Carthaginian plot. 

It was first of all necessary that I should become ac- 
quainted with the city, with the situation and structure of 
the palace of Hormnisdas, and make myself known in the 
streets as one of those wayside merchants whom all abuse, 
yet whom all are glad to trade with. So, with my slave 
bending under the burden of those- articles of use or lux- 
ury which I thought would be most attractive, we set forth 
into the midst of the busy streets, seeking a market for 
our commodities. Several days were passed in this man- 
ner, returning each night to lodge in the house of the rich \ 
and foolish, but hospitable Levi. .1 

While thus employed, I frequently saw Calpurnius, in 
company with the prince or other nobles, either riding in 
state through the streets of the city, or else setting out 
upon excursions of pleasure beyond the walls. But my 
chief object was to observe well the palace of the prince 
and learn the particular part of it inhabited by the Roman' 
and how and where it was his custom to pass his time. 
Ihis it was not difiicult to do. The palace of the prince I 
found to occupy a square of the city not far from that of 
the king his father. It is of vast extent, but of a desolate 
aspect, trom the fewness of its inhabitants and the ieal- 
ousy with which the prince and all his movements are ^ 
watched by the wicked and now superannuated Sapor, 
Every day I diligently paced the streets upon which it !■ 
stands. ^ I at first went without Hadad, that I might ob- 1 
serve with the more leisure. I at length discovered the M 
apartments used by Calpurnius, and learned that it was I 


ZEU-OBIA. 


lod 

his custom, when not absent from the palace upon some 
enterprise of pleasure, to refresh himself by breathing the 
air, and pacing to and fro upon a gallery of light Persian 
architecture, which borders immediately upon one of the 
lour streets that bounds the palace. This gallery was not 
so high above the street but what the voice could easily 
reacn those who were walking there, and that without 
greatly increasing its natural tone. From pillar to pillar 
there ran along a low lattice-work of fanciful device, upon 
which it was the usage of Calpurnius, and those who were 
with him, often to lean and idly watch the movements of 
the passengers below. Here, I found, must be my place 
of audience. Here I must draw his attention, and make 
myself know to him. For an opportunity to do this, I saw 
at once 1 might be obliged to wait long, for scarce ever 
was Calpurnius there, but Hormisdas, or some one of the 
nobles, was with him; or if he was alone, yet the street was 
so thronged that it must be difficult to obtain a hearing. 

Having learned these things, I then came forth, with 
Hadad bearing my merchandise, I myself going before him 
as owner and crier. Many times did I. pass and repass the 
gallery of Calpurnius to no purpose— he either not being 
there, or attended closely by others, or wrapped in thought 
so that my cries could not arouse him. It was clear to me 
that I must make some bold attempt. He was one day 
standing at the lattice-work already named, alone, and 
looking at the passers-by. Seeing him there as I entered 
the street, I made directly toward the spot, crying in the 
loudest tone my goods; and notwithstanding the numbers 
who were on their way along the street, I addressed myself 
boldly to him, purposely mistaking him for Hormisdas. 

‘‘ Prince,'" said I, “buy a little, if it pleases you, of a 
poor Jew, who has lately traversed the desert to serve you. 

I have in these panniers wonders from all parts of the 
world. ^ There is not a city famous for its art in any rare 
and curious work, that is not represented here. Kings, 
queens, and princes, have not disdained to purchase of 
me. The great Sapor at Ctesiphon has of me procured 
some of his largest diamonds. 1 have sold to Claudius, 
and Zenobia, and half the nobility of Palmyra. Dost thou 
see, prince, the glory of this assortment of diamonds? 
Look! How would they become thy finger, thy hunting- 
cap, or thy sandals?"^ 


TOO 


ZENOBIA. 


Thy brother listened to me with unmoved countenance 
and folded arms, receiving passively whatever I was pleased 
to say. When I paused, he said, in a tone of sadness, 
though of affected pleasantry: 

“ Jew, I am the worst subject for thee in all Ecbatana. 
I am a man without wants. I do nothing but live, and I 
have nothing to do to live. 

Now,'’' I replied, ‘Ms it time for me to die, having 
seen the chief wonder of the world — a man without wants. " 

“ There is a greater yet," said he smiling; “ thou must 
live on. " 

“ And what is that?" 

“ A woman." 

Thou hast me. But I can easily compound with life. 

I have many wants, yet I love it I was but a day or two 
since buried alive under the burning sands of the desert, 
and lost there a dromedary worth— if a farthing— four 
hundred aurelians, for which thou mayest have him. Yet 
I love to live, and take the chances of the world as they 
turn up. Here now have I all the way consoled myself 
with the thought of what I might sell to the great Prince 
Horsmisdas, and thou seest my reward. Still I cry my 
goods with the same zeal. But surely thou wantest some- 
thing? I have jewels from Rome— of the latest fashion." 

I want nothing from Rome." 

lowering my voice, I said, 

I hem wantest nothing from Rome? What wouldst thou 
give, Roman, for news from Rome?" 

“ News from Rome? Not an obolus. How knowest 
^ou me to be a Roman? But now, I was the Prince 
Hormisdas. " 


seen thee many times, and know thee well, as 
the^ Roman Piso. I have iieAvs for thee. " 

“ The prince approaches!" said Piso, in a hurried man- 
n but come again at the hour of dusk, and 

I shall be alone, and will have thee admitted Avithin the 
gates of the palace. " 

The fates ordering it so, I was obliged to depart, and 
trust again to the future for such chances of renting mv 
conversation with him as it might have to offer. Here let 
me. tell th^e, Lucius Piso, that not liaving seen thy broth- 
er, thou hast never seen a man. He is one with every 
mark of the noblest manhood. His air is that of a born 


ZEKOBIA. 


161 


The unrestrained. 

T hLo ^ countenance is beyond that of any other 
I have ever seen, yet is it a manly beauty. A line of dark 

fZl ^^P- His eyes are large and 

Ipla" general expression. He seeins of a 

wnrH« thoughtful temper, and sometimes in his 

words there is an inexpressible bitterness. Yet it has ap- 
peared to me, that his nature is gentle, and that the othL 
character is one accidental or assumed. If I should com- 

not Tt it would be, Roman, 

^ i^iiee to be of the same 

stock—but with the Princess Julia. Were her beauty only 
made masculine, she would then be Calpurnius: or were 
his made feminine, he would then be Julia. But this 
ancy might not strike others. His features and air are 
not so ^^uch Roman as oriental — thine are purely Roman, 
it may be that costume alone imparts this Eastern aspect 
to the countenance and the form— for his dress is wholly 
that of a Persian. ■’ 


As I passrf into the dwelling of my host, entering it as 
at nrst by the way of the shop, its owner was holding a 
conversation of business with some of his customers. How 
does money seem native to the palm of some men? They 
have but to open it, and straight it is lined with gold. If 
th^ blunder, it is into more wealth. With wit scarce 
sufficient to make it clear to another that they are properly 
rnen, do they manage to make themselves the very chief of 
all, by reason of the riches they heap up — which ever have 
claimed and received, and ever will, the homage of the 
woild. Levi is of this sort. The meanness of his under- 
standing words can not express — or no words but his own. 
He was talking after this manner, as I entered to one who 
seemed to hold him in utmost reverence: 

^ ^ The thing is so — the thing ’s so. If ^twere otherwise 
tis most clear it would not be the same. Ha! The price 
may change. Y/ho can say? The world is full of change. 
But it can not be less, and leave a gain to the seller — un- 
Rss indeed, circumstances altering, the profit should still be 
the same. But who can understand the future? An hour 
is more than I can comprehend. He that deals well with 
the present, is it not he. Holy Abraham! who best secures 
the passing time? It can not be denied!"^ 

As the oracle ended, the Persian bowed low, saying: 


102 


zIkobia. 


The wisdom of it is clearer than the light. I shall so 
report to the prince. Seeing me, he, in his friendly way, 
inquired after my success, shaking hds head at what he is 
pleased to regard my mad enterprise. “ Better not med- 
dle nor make in such matters. With thy pack upon thy 
back, and exercising diligence, thou wouldst become rich 
here in the streets of Ecbatana. And for what else shouldst 
thou care? ^Tis only money that remains the same in the 
midst of change. All agree in the value they place upon 
this, while they agree in nothing else. Who can remember 
a difference here? Leave thy project, Isaac, which thou 
must have undertaken half for love, and I will make thee 
a great man in Ecbatana. Little does he know of Isaac, 
and thou I believe as little. 

^ Ko sooner had the god of these idolaters gone down to 
his rest, and the friendly twilight come, than I set forth 
for the palace of Hormisdas. Upon coming beneath the 
gallery, I waited not long before thy brother appeared, 
and pointed out the way in which, through a low and pri- 
vate entrance at a remote spot, I might reach an apart- 
ment where I should find him. Following his directions, 
and accompanied by Hadad, I was received, at the speci- 
fied place, by a slave of the palace, who conducted me to 
Bison’s presence. It was in one of his more private apart- 
ments, but still sumptuously set out with every article of 
Persian luxury, in which I found myself once more in com 
pany with thy brother, and where I ordered Hadad to dis 
play for his entertainment the most curious and costly of 
the contents of his pack. 

‘‘I marvel chiefly, Eoman,^^ I began by saying, at 
the ease with which I obtain an entrance into the palace, 
and into thine own apartment. I had thought this to have 
been attended with both difficulty and danger. "" 

“It is not without danger,"" he replied; “ thou mayst 
lose thy head for this adventure. But this risk I suppose 
thee to have weighed. Every one in Ecbatana knows Sa- 
por and me— with what jealousy I am guarded— and that 
the king will not flinch to keep his word, and take off any 
head that meddles. But fear not. The king is old and 
weak, and though cruel as ever, forgets me as everything j 
else. Besides, it is found that I am so good a Persian, j 
that all strictness in the watch has long since ceased. Half -jj 


ZEKOBIA. 


163 


^ Persian than a Roman— and 

in truth they are right. 

+1, ”?*■’ Po“i^n> forgotten thy country! Surely 

fU suffering captivity, ceased to love 

Md long for thy native land. The Jew never forgets his. 
Ho lives indeed m every corner and hole of the earth, but 

tTn“tt^® ^T®i~ ^®®P® life— either him- 

self or through his children to dwell once more within the 

Judea ” I“lls and valleys of 

Where we are not loved nor remembered, we can not 
love, he bitterly replied. “ I loved Romo once, more 
than I loved parent or kindred. The greatness and glory 
ot Ronie were to me infinitely more than my own. I'or 
her-in my beardless youth— I was ready to lay down my 
life at any nioment. Nay, when the trial came, and the 
good Valerian set forth to redeem the East from the en- 
croaohing power of Persia, I was not found wanting, but 
abandoned a home, than which there was not a prouder nor 
happier within the walls of Rome, to take my chance with 
the en^eror and my noble father. The issue thou know- 
est. How has Rome remembered me, and the brave le- 
gions that with me fell into the hands of these fierce bar- 
barians? Even as Gallienus the son seemed to rejoice in 
the captivity of his parent, so has Rome the mother seemed 
to rejoice in the captivity of her children. Not an arm 
has she lifted, not a finger has she moved, to lighten the 
chains of our bondage, or rescue us from this thralldom. 
Rome IS no longer my country. 

‘‘‘Consider, Roman,"" I replied, ‘‘ in extenuation of thy 
country"s fault who it was that succeeded the good Valerian 
—then the brief reign of virtuous Claudius, who died ere 
a single purpose had time to ripen— and the hard task that 
has tied the hands of Aurelian on the borders of Gaul and 
Germany. Have patience."" 

“ Dost thou not blush, old man,"" he said, “ with that 
long gray beard of thine, and thy back bent with years, to 
stand there the apologist of crime? If ingratitude and 
heartlessness are to be defended, and numbered among 
the virtues, the reign of Arimanes has indeed begun. Such 
is not the lesson, Jew, thy sacred books have taught thee. 
Rut a truce with this! Thy last words this morning were, 
that thou hadst news for me. For Roman news I care not, 


164 


ZEKOBIA. 


iior will hear. If thou canst tell me aught of family and 
friends, say on— although — 0 gods, that it should be so! 
—even they seem to share the guilt of all. How many 
messengers have I bribed with gold, more than thou hast 
ever seen, Jew, to bear my letters to Rome, and never a 
word has been returned of good or evil. Canst thou tell 
me anything of Portia my mother? or of Lucius Piso, mv 
brother? Live they?"" ^ 

‘‘Do I not know them well?"" I replied: ‘‘who that 
dwells in Rome knows not the noble Portia? She lives 
yet; and long may she live, the friend of all! To Jew, 
and even to JS^azarene, she is good, even as to her own." 
Never did age, or want, or helplessness, ask of her in vain. 
Years have not stopped the fountain of her tears, nor 
chilled a single affection of her heart. And dost thou think 
that while she remembers the outcast Jew, and the de- 
spised Nazarene, she forgets her own offspring? , Where 
IS thy heart, Roman, to suppose it? Have I not heard 
her, many a time, when I have been to solicit alms for 
some poor unfortunate of my tribe, run back upon the line 
01 years, and speak of the wars of Valerian, of the day 
when she parted from her great husband, and her two 
sons, and of that dark day too when the news came that 
they were all fast in the clutch of that foul barbarian, 
bapor and stood a silent and astonished witness of a love 
such as I never saw in any other, and which seemed so 
great as to be a necessary seed of death to her frail and 
shattered frame? Of thee especially have I heard her des- 
cant as mothers will, and tell one after another of all thv 
beauties, nay, and of the virtues which bound her to thee 
so, and of her trust so long cherished, that thou, more 
than either of her other sons, wouldst live to sustain, and 
even bear up higher, the name of Piso. "" 

‘‘ My noble mother! was it so indeed?"" 

‘ How should it be otherwise? Is it anything that thou 
hast not he^d from her? Was she to tempt herself the 
horrors of a Persian journey? Was she, in h^’ age to seek 
thee oyer the sands of Asia? or thy brother? Especially 

more certain that Valerian 

was dead, than that thy father and thou wert also The 
same messengers related both events. No other news ever 
came from Ctesiphon. Was not one event as likely as the 
othei. Did not both rest upon the same authority? In 


ZEKOBIA. 


165 


acts of the Senate were thy name, 
s, thy brother s, and the emperor’s, with others 
who were also believed to have perished. Was Portia 
alone, of all Rome, to give the lie to universal fame? As 
for thy messengers, art thou so foolish as to believe that 

‘^e mesh^^t for 

nim by the jealous and malignant Sapor?^^ 

It is enough, Jew— say no more. ” 

P Jiaye much more to say, or else be false to those 
Who sent me. 

“ Sent thee? who sent thee? Speak! do Portia then, 
and Lucius, know that I live? And art thou here a mes- 
senger from them 
“ It is even so.'’^ 


pother was greatly moved. At first he made as 
though he would have embraced me, but turned and paced 
With quick and agitated steps the room. 

I then related to him how we had in Rome first heard 

through that soldier a rumor of his being yet alive but at 

the same time, that he had renounced his country and be- 
come a Persian Satrap. I told him of thy faith in him 
and of Portia^s that he would never prove a recreant to 
his country— of thy instant journey to Palmyra, with pur- 
pose to cross the desert thyself and risk all the dangers of 
Ecbatana to accomplish his deliverance, and of the counsel 
of Gracchus, which caused thee to make me a substitute. 
ic • then, he at length said, approaching me, 

IS in Palmyra? Is it so.?"" ^ 


It is, I said. At least I left him there. He was 
to remain there, and learn the issue of my attempt. If I 
perished, or failed in the endeavor to obtain thy freedom, 
then was it his purpose himself to try— unless in the mean- 
time he should learn through me, or otherwise, that thou 
wert too wedded to Persia and to Persian customs to change 
for Rome and Roman ways."" 

‘ Vew, thou seest that now I hesitate. Thou hast roused 
all the son, the brother, and something of the Roman 
within me. I am drawn many ways. To Rome I will 
never return. Toward her, a resentment burns deep 
within, which I know will close only with life itself. But 
toward Palmyra, my heart yearns. "Twas Zenobia alone of 
all the world that ever moved for the rescue of Valerian: 


166 


ZENOBIA. 


^twas she alone of all the world, who pitied our sorrows, 
mid though she could not heal, avenged them. Her 
image has been a dear source of consolation in this long 
captivity. I have eagerly sought for all that could be ob- 
tained concerning her character, her acts, her policy, and 
the state of her affairs. And often have I thought to slip 
my bonds and throw myself at her feet, to serve with her, 
if need should be, either against Rome or Persia. But habit 
has prevailed, and the generous friendship* of Hormisdas, 
to keep me here. And why should I change this not un- 
pleasing certainty for the doubtful future that must await 
me in Palmyra? Here I am in the very lap of luxury. I 
am, as I have said to thee, a man without wants. All 
countries, and climates, and seas, and arts, minister to my 
pleasure. The learning of ancient and of modern times, 
you see there piled upon shelves, to entertain my leisure, 
or task my hours of study. I am without care — without 
the necessity of toil — with a palace, its slaves, and, I may 
add, its prince, at my command. And beyond all this 
present reality, there is the prospect of everything else that 
Persia contains, upon the death of Sapor, which, in the 
course of nature, can not be far off, if violence do not an- 
ticipate that hour. Yet what thou now teJlest me, renews 
my desire of change. Lucius is in Palmyra— perhaps he 
would dwell there. ^Tis the home, I learn, of many noble 
Romans. Who can say that Portia might not come and 
complete our happiness?^ ^ 

And saying these things, he began to muse. He again 
paced with folded arms the long apartment. I saw that 
he was still distracted by doubts. I knew of but one thing 
more to say, by which to work upon his passionate nature. - 
I resolved to say it, though I know not what thou wilt think i 
of it, nor what the event may be. There was, thou A 
knoT^st, ere I left Palmyra, rumor of war between Palmyra I 
and Rome. Barely to name this, it seemed to me, would i 
be in the instant to fix his wavering mind. I could not | 
withstand the temptation. But, Piso once in Palmyra, and | 
sure I am I shall be forgiven. I began again thus. | 

Gracchus too, Roman j dost thou not remember the 1 
tamily of Gracchus? He also is in Palmyra. | 

“ Ay, I remember him well. A man of true nobilitv— 1 
now one of the Queen^s chief advisers, and head of the 1 
benate. He had a daughter too, who, her mother dying I 


ZENOBIA. 


167 


to the care of Portia, and was as a 
oi. ® live?— and dwells she in Palmyra^" ^ 

lo„,tW other's roof. Fame speaks 

loudly of her beauty and her wit, and more loudly still of 
her young wisdom, and influence with the Queen Her 
spirit IS the counterpart of Zenobia^s. She is, notwith- 
standing her long Roman nurture, a Palmyrene of the 
truest stanip. And ever since there have been these rumors 
01 a war with Rome — 


“ What sayst thou? What is that? War with Eome? 
JDid I hear aright? 

1 didst. '’Twas the current report when I 

left Palmyra. It came both by the way of Antioch and 
Alexandria. Nothing was talked of else. Ever since I 
say — ^ 

‘‘ Why hast thou not said this before? How shall I 
believe thee?^^ 


I said it not before, simply because I thought not of it. 

I How was I to know what thou most desiredest to hear? I 
can give thee no other ground of belief than common 
rumor. If my own opinion will weigh aught, I may add, that 
, foi myself I have not a doubt that the report springs from 
I truth. W hen at Rome, it was commonly spoken of, and 
^ by those too whom I knew to be near the emperor, that 
I Aurelian felt himself aggrieved and insulted, that a woman 
: should hold under her dominion territories that once be- 
longed to Rome, and who had wrested them from Rome by 
1 defeat of Roman generals— and had sworn to restore the 
[empire in the East as well as West, to its ancient bounds. 
At Palmyra too I found those who were of deep intelligence 
in the politics of the times, who felt sure of nothing more 
than that, what with the pride of Zenobia and the ambi- 
tion of Aurelian, war was inevitable. I tell thee these 
things as they fell upon my ear. Before this, as I think, 
it is most likely that war may have broken out between the 
two nations. 


Thou hast^ now spoken, Jew,^^ said Calpurnius. 

‘ Hadst thou said these things at first, thou hadst spared 
me much tormenting doubt. My mind is now bent and 
determined upon flight. This it will not be diflicult, I 
think, to accomplish. But what is thy plan?— for I sup- 
ipose, coming upon this errand, thou hast one well digested. 
But remember now, as I have already warned thee, that 


168 


ZEKOBIA. 


thy head will answer for any failure: detection will be 
death. 

‘‘ Death is little to a Jew, who in dying dies for his 
country. And such would be my death! w hether I live 
or die, ^tis for Jerusalem. Thy brother rewards me largely 
for this journey, and these dangers I encounter; and if 1 
perish, the double of the whole sum agreed upon is to be 
paid according to certain directions left with him. I would 
rather live; but I shall not shrink from death. But, Piso, 
detection shall not ensue. I have not lived to this age, to 
writhe upon a Persian spear, or grin from over a Persian 
gateway. What I have devised is this. Thou seest mv 
slave Had ad ^ 
‘‘ I see him — an Ethiopian. 

‘‘ So he seems to thee. But his skin is white as thine. 
By an art, known only to me, it has been changed to this 
ebon hue.^^ 

What follows 

This. Thou art to take his place, thy skin being first 
made to resemble his, while he is cleansed, and remains in 
Ecbatana. We then, thou bearing my packages of mer- 
chandise, take our way, quietly and in broad day-light, 
through the gates of Ecbatana. How sayst thou.^"" 

"L The invention is perfect. I can not fear the result. 

So soon then aa I shall have made some few prepara- 
tions, for which to-morrow will suffice, I shall be ready for 
the desert. ^ 


I heard these words with joy. I now called to Hadad to 
open his case of jewels, from which I took a seal, having 
upon it the head of Zenobia, and offered it to Calpurnius. 
He seized it with eagerness, having never before seen even 
so much as a drawing of the Great Queen. I then drew 
torth thme own ring and gave him, with that locket con- 
taining the hair of Portia, and thy letter. He received 
them with emotion; and as I engaged myself in repacking 
my goods, my quick ear caught tears falling upon the 
sneet as he read. 


I then returned to the house of Levi. 

Thus have I accomplished, successfully so far, mv 
fp'Ivp5i7..K write these things to thee, because a caravan 
leaves Ecbatana in the morning, and may reach Palmyra 
before ourselves; though it is quite possible that we may 


ZEKOBIA. 


169 


overtake and join it. But we may also be delayed for many 
days. So that it is right, in that case, thou shouldst hear. 

***** He :ic 

In these words, my Cur tins, you have, for the most 
part, the letter of Isaac. I have omitted many things 
which at another time you shall see. They are such as 
relate chiefly to himself and his faith — abounding in cau- 
tions against that heretic Probus, who haunts his imagina- 
tion as if he were the very genius of evil. 

How can I believe it, that within a few hours I may em- 
brace a brother, separated so long, and so long numbered 
with the dead? Yet how mixed the pleasure! He returns 
a brother, but not a Roman. Nay, Tis the expectation of 
war with Rome, that has gained him. I am perplexed 
and sad, at the same time that I leap for joy. Pausta can 
not conceal her satisfaction — ^yet she pities me. Gracchus 
tells us. to moderate our feelings and expectations, as the 
full cup is often spilled. No more now — except this — that 
you fail not at once to send this letter to Portia. Fare- 
well! 


LETTER IX. 

Sevekal days have elapsed since I last wrote, yet 
Calpurnius is not arrived. I am filled with apprehen- 
sions. I fear lest he may have thought too lightly of the 
difficulties of an escape, and of the strictness with which he 
is watched; for while he seems to have held it an easy mat- 
ter to elude the vigilance of his keepers, common opinion 
at Ecbatana appears to have judged very differently. Yet, 
after all, I can not but rely with much confidence upon the 
discretion and the cunning of Isaac. I must now relate 
what has happened in the meantime. 

It was the morning after Isaacs's letter had been received 
and read, that Milo presented himself, with a countenance 
and manner indicative of some inward disturbance. 

‘‘ And what,^^ I asked, “ may be the matter?” 

‘‘ Enough is the matter, both for yourself and me,” he 
replied. “ Here now has been a wretch of an Arab, a fel- 
low of no appearance, a mere camel-driver, desiring to see 
you. I told him flatly that you were not to be seen by 
scum such as he. I advised him to be gone, before he 


170 


ZENOBIA. 


might have to complain of a broken head. And what do 
you suppose was the burden of his errand? Why truly to 
ask of the most noble Piso concerning his wife and child! 
I begged him to consider whether, supposing you did know 
aught concerning them, you would deign to communicate 
with a sun-baked bpggar of the desert like him. Where- 
upon he raised' a lance longer than a mast, and would 
have run me through, but for the expertness with which I 
seized and wrested it from him, and then broke it over his 
head. '’Twas the same scowling knave whose camels 
choked the street the first day we entered the city, and who 
sent his curse after us. Hassan is his name. His eye left 
a mark on me thaPs not out yet. A hyena^s is nothing to 

It/* 


^ Thus did he run on. I could have speared him as will- 
ingly as Hassan. It was plain that che husband of the 
woman found in the desert by Isaac, hearing a rumor of 
intelligence received by me, had been to obtain such in- 
formation as possibly I might possess of his wife and child. 
Upon asking my slave W'here the camel-driver now was he 
replied that, ‘‘ Truly he did not know; he had been driven 
court-yard with blows, and it was a mercy that 
his life was left to him. He had been taught how again to 
curse Romans. o & 

It was in vain that I assured him once and again that he 
was no longer m the service of an emperor, and that it was 
unnecessary to treat me with quite so much deference* his 
only regret was that the robber had got off so easily. ^ As 
the only reparation in my power for such stupidity and in- 
humanity, I ordered Milo instantly to set forth in search of 
Hassan, m the quarter of the city which the Arabs chiefiy 
frequent, and finding him, to bring him to the house of 
Crracchus, for I had news for him. This was little relished 
by Milo, and I could see, by the change of his counte- 
nance, that his cowardly soul was ill-inclined to an en- 
counter with the insulted Arab, in the remote parts of the 
cffy, and unaccompanied by any of the slaves of the palace. 
JNevertheless, he started upon his errand — but, as I after- 
ward learned, bribed Hannibal to act as life-guard 
Thinking that I might possibly fall in with him’ mvself 
and desirous, moreover, of an occupation that should cause 
me to lorget Calpurnius and my anxieties for a season, I 
went forth also, taking the paths that first offered them- 


ZEKOBIA. 


171 

selves. A sort of instinct drew me, as it almost always 
does, to one of the principal streets of the city, denominat- 
ed, from the size and beauty of the trees which adorn it, 
the Street of Palms. This is an avenue which traverses 
the city in its whole length; and at equal distances from 
its center, and also running its whole length, there shoots 
up a double row of palms, which, far above the roofs of the 
highest buildings spread out their broad and massy tufts of 
leaves, and perfectly protect the throngs below from the 
rays of the blazing sun. Thus a deep shadow is cast upon 
tl^ floor of the street, while at the same time, it is unen- 
cumbered by the low branches, which on every other kind 
of tree stretch out in all directions, and obstruct the view, 
taking away a greater beauty and advantage than they 
give. This palm is not the date-bearing species, but of 
another sort, attaining a loftier growth, and adorned with 
a larger leaf. A pity truly it is, that Rome can not crown 
itself with this princely diadem; but even though the bitter 
blasts from the Appennines did not prevent, a want of 
taste for what is beautiful would. The Roman is a coarse 
form of humanity, Curtius, compared with either the, Greek 
or the Palniyrene. Romans will best conquer the world, 
or defend it; but its adorning should be left to others. 
Their hands are rude, and they but spoil what they touch. 
Since the days of Cicero, and the death of the Republic, 
what has Rome done to advance any cause, save that of 
slavery and licentiousness A moral Hercules is needed 
to sweep it clean of corruptions, which it is amazing have 
not ere this drawn down the thunder of the gods. Julia 
would say that Christ is that Hercules. May it be so! 

Along the street which I had thus entered I slowly saun- 
tered, observing the people who thronged it, and the shops 
with their varieties which lined it. I could easily gather 
from the conversation which now and then fell upon my 
ear — sometimes as I mingled with those who were observing 
a flne piece of sculpture or a new picture exposed for 
sale, or examining the articles which some hawker with 
much vociferation thrust upon the attention of those who 
were passing along, or waiting at a fountain, while slaves 
in attendance served round in vessels of. glass, water cooled 
with snow and flavored with the juice of fruits peculiar to 
the East — that the arrival of the embassadors had caused a 
great excitement among the people, and had turned all 


172 


ZEKOBIA. 


thoughts into one channel. Frequently were they gathered 
together in groups, around some of the larger trees, or at 
the corners of the streets, or at the entrance of some con- 
spicuous shop, to listen to the news which one had to tell, 
or to arguments upon the all-engrossing theme with 
which another sought to bring over those who would listen, 
to one or another side of the great question. But I must 
confess that — save in a very few instances — the question 
was no question at all, and had but one side. Those whom 
I heard, and who were listened to by any numbers, and 
with any patience, were zealous patriots, inveighing bitterly 
against the ambition and tyranny of Borne, and prognosti- 
cating national degration, and ruin, and slavery, if once the 
policy of concession to her demands was adopted 

Palmyra,"^ they said, with Zenobia and Longinus at 
her head, the deserts around her, and Persia to back her, 
might fearlessly stand against Borne and the world. Em- 
pire began in the East: it had only wandered for awhile to 
the West-losing its way. The East was its native seat, 
and there it would return. Why should not Palmyra be 
what Assyria and Persia once were? What kingdom of the 
world, and what age, could ever boast a general like Zab- 
das, a minister like Longinus, a queen like the great Zeno- 
bia?"" At such flights, the air would resound with the 
plaudits of the listening crowd, who would then disperse 
and pursue their affairs, or presently gather round some 
new declaimer. 

I was greatly moved on several of these occasions, to 
make a few statements in reply to some of the orators, and 
which might possibly have let a little light upon minds will- 
ing to know the truth; but I doubted whether even the 
proverbially good-natured and courteous Palmyrenes might 
not take umbrage at it. As I turned from one of these 
little knots of politicians, I encountered Otho, a nobleman 
of Palmyra and one of the Queen"s council. ‘‘ I was just 
asking myself, said I, saluting him, whether the temper 
of your people, even and forebearing as it is, would allow 
a Boman in their own city to harangue them, who should 
not^so much advocate a side, as aim to impart truth."" 

/‘Genuine Palmyrenes,"" he answered, “would listen 
with patience and civility. But, in a crowded street, one 
^n never answer for his audience. You see here not only 
Palmyrenes, but strangers from all parts of the East— 


ZEKOBIA. 


173 


people from our conquered provinces and dependencies, 
who feel politically with the Palmyrene, but 3^et have not 
the manners of the Palmyrene. There is an Armenian, 
there a Saracen, there an Arab, there a Cappadocian, there 
a Jew, and there an Egyptian — all politically perhaps with 
^ us, but otherwise a part of us not more than the Ethiopian 
or Scythian. The Senate of Palmyra would hear all you 
might say — or the Queen ^s council — but not the street, I 
fear. Nay, one of these idle boys, but whose patriotism 
is ever boiling over, might in his zeal and his ignorance do 
that which should bring disgrace upon our good city. I 
should rather pray you to forbear. But if you will extend 
your walk to the Portico which I have just left, you will 
there find a more select crowd than jostles us where we 
stand, and perhaps ears ready to hear you. All that you 
may say to divert the heart of the nation from this mad 
enterprise, I shall be most grateful for. But any words 
which you may speak, or which a present god might utter, 
would avail no more against the reigning frenzy, than 
would a palm-leaf against a whirlwind of the desert.'’'' 

As he uttered these words, with a voice somewhat ele- 
vated, several had gathered about us, listening with eagerness 
to what the noble and respected Otho had to say. They 
heard him attentively, shook their heads, and turned away 
— some saying: “ He is a good man, but timid. Others 
scrupled not to impute to him a Eoman leaning. 
When he had ended, seeing that a number had pressed 
around, he hastily wished me a happy day, and moved 
down the street. I bent my way toward the Portico, 
ruminating the while upon the fates of empire. 

I soon reached that magnificent structure, with its end- 
less lines of columns. More than the usual crowd of 
talkers, idlers, strangers, buyers and sellers, thronged its 
ample pavements. One portion of it seems to be appro- 
priated, at least abandoned, to those who have aught that 
IS rare and beautiful • to dispose of. Before one column 
stands a Jew with antiquities raked from the ruins of Baby- 
lon or Thebes — displaying their coins, their mutilated 
statuary, or half-legible inscriptions. At another, you see 
a Greek with some masterpiece of Zeuxis — nobody less — 
which he swears is genuine, and to his oaths adds a parch- 
ment containing its history, with names of men in Athens, 
Antioch and Alexandria, who attest it all. At the foot of 


174 


ZEKOBIA. 


another, sits a dealer in manuscripts, remarkable either as 
being the complete works of distinguished authors, or for 
the perfection of the art of the copyist, or for their great 
antiquity. Here were Manetho and Sanchoniathon to be 
had perfect and complete! Not far from these stood others, 
who offered sculptures, ancient and modern — vases of every 
beautiful form, from those of Egypt and Etruria, to the 
freshly wrought ones of our own Demetrius — and Jewelry 
of the most rare and eostly kinds. There is scarce an arti- 
cle of taste, or valuable of any sort whatever, but may be 
found here brought from all parts of the world. In Per- 
sian, Indian, and Chinese rarities — which in Rome are rar- 
ities indeed — I have dealt largely, and shall return with 
much to show you. 

When, with some toil, I had won a-passage through this 
busy mart, I mingled with a different crowd. I passed 
from buyers and sellers among those who were, like myself, 
brought there merely for the purpose of seeing others, of 
passing the time, and observing the beautiful effects of 
this interminable Portico, with its moving and changing 
crowds robed in a thousand varieties of the richest costume. 
It was indeed a spectacle of beauty, such as I never had 
seen before nor elsewhere. I chose out point after point, 
and stood a silent and rapt observer of the scene. Of the 
view from one of these points, I have purchased a paint- 
ing, done with exquisite skill, which I shall send to you, 
and which will set before you almost the living reality. 

To this part of the Portico those resort who wish to hear 
the opinions of the day upon subjects of politics or litera- 
ture, or philosophy, or to disseminate their own. He who 
cherishes a darling theory upon any branch of knowledge, 
and would promulgate it, let him come here, and he will 
find hearers at least. As I walked along, I was attracted 
by a voice declaiming with much earnestness to a crowd of 
hearers, and who seemed as I drew near ■ to listen with at- 
tention, some being seated upon low blocks of marble 
arranged among the columns of the Portico for this pur- 
pose, others leaning against the columns themselves, and 
others standing on the outside of the circle. The philoso- 
pher — for such I perceived him at once to be — was evi- 
dently a Greek. He was arrayed in a fashionable garb, 
with a robe much like our toga thrown over his shoulders, 
and which he made great use of in his gesticulations, A 


ZENGBIA. 


175 


lieavy cliain of gold was wound around his neck, and then 
crossing several times his breast, hung down in artificially- 
arranged festoons. A general air of effeminacy produced 
in the hearer at once a state of mind not very favorably 
disposed to receive his opinions. The first words I caught 
were these: “In this manner,'’^ said he, “did that won- 
derful genius interpret the universe. '’Tis not credible 
that any but children and slaves should judge differently. 
Was there once nothing? Then were there nothing now. 
But there is something now. We see it. The world is. 
Then it has always been. It is an eternal Being. It is 
infinite. Ha! can you escape me now? Say, can there be 
two infinites? Then where are your gods? The fabled 
creator or creators — be they many or one — of the universe? 
Vanished, I fancy, at the touch of my intellectual wand, 
into thin air. Congratulate yourselves upon your freedom. 
The Egyptians had gods, and you know what they were. 
The Greeks had gods, and you know what they were. 
Those nations groveled and writhed under their partly 
childish, partly terrific, and partly disgusting superstitions. 
Happy that the reality of divine natures can, so easily as I 
have now done it, be disproved! The superincumbent 
gloom is dispersed. Light has broken through. And so 
too, touching the immortality of the- soul. Immortality 
of the soul! Did any one of you ever see a soul? I should 
like to have that question answered:^^— he swung defyingly 
his robe and paused — “ did any one ever see a soul! Yes, 
and that was immortal, too! You see a body, and there- 
fore you believe in it. You see that it is mortal and there- 
fore you believe, in its mortality. You do not see the soul 
— therefore you believe in one? Is that your reasoning? 
How plain the argument is! ’When the god or gods — sup- 
pose their being — shall send down and mpart to me the 
astounding fact that I am not one, as I seem, but two — 
am not mortal, as I seem, but immortal — do not melt into 
dust at death, but rise in spirit— then I will believe such 
things, not otherwise. Have we knowledge of any other 
existence — elemental existences — than corporeal atoms? 
None. These constitute the human being. Death is their 
separation, and that separation means the end of the being 
they once did constitute. But it may all be summed up in 
a word. When you can see and touch your own soul, as 
you do see and touch your body, believe in it. Deny and 


176 


ZEKOBIA. 


reject this principle, and the world .will continue to suffer 
from its belief in gorgons, demons, spectres, dogs, and 
monsters; in Tartarean regions and torments of damned 
spirits. Adopt it, and life flows undisturbed by visionary 
fears, and death comes as a long and welcome sleep, upon 
which no terrors and no dreams intrude. 

Such was the doctrine, and such nearly the language of 
the follower of Epicurus. You will easily judge how far 
he misrepresented the opinions of that philosopher. As I 
turned away from this mischievous dealer in Cimmerian 
darkness, I inquired of one who stood near me who this 
great man might be. 

4.1,' know Critias 
the Epicurean.-' You must be a stranger in Palmyra. Do 
you not see, by the quality of his audience, that he leads 
away with him all the fine spirits of the city? Observe 
how the greater number of these who hang upon his lips 
resemble, in their dress and air, the philosopher/-’ 

‘‘ I see it is so. It seems as if all the profligates and 
young rakes of Palmyra — of the nobler sort — were as- 
sembled here to receive some new lesson in the art of self- 
destruction. 


^ ^ Many a philosopher of old would, I believe,"" he re- 
mined, have prayed that his system might perish with 
himself" could he have looked forward into futurity 
and known how it would be interpreted and set forth by 
his followers. The temperate and virtuous Epicurus little 
thought that his name and doctrine would in after times 
licentious and dissolute. His 
philosophy was crude enough, and mischievous I grant in 
Its principles and tendencies. But it was promulgated I 
am sure with honest intentions, and he himself was not 
aware of its extreme liability to misapprehension and per- 
version How would his ears tingle at what we have now 


And would after all deserve it,"" I replied. Eor he 
it seems to me, is too ignorant of human nature, to venture 
upon the office of teacher of mankind, who believes that 
the reality of a superintending providence can be denied 
with safety to the world. A glance at history, and the 
slightest penetration into human character, would have 
shown him" that atheism, in any of its forms, is incompati- 
ble with the existence of a social state, "" ^ 


ZEKOBIA. 


177 


“ say is very true,” replied the Palmyrene- 

I defend ouly the intentions and personal character of 

werrit" noTfor' Critiasf 
weie 1 C not tor the odiousness of any interference with 

l‘ke to see drivr“our city 
?he mp?l, “0'^ as he Tays dow^ 

dr;nt®-^^°fi • a happy life. &e how these young idlers 
drink in t m nectarean stream. But enough, f leave 
them in their own style. Farewell! Praf invite the 
philosopher to visit you at Rome. We can spL him ” 


i.!.- I*-'- xtwiuc. vve can spare nini. ^ 

T flT ^ and went his way 

I also passed on. Continuing my walk up the Portico 
perceived at a iittlp foiiico, i 


perceived at a little distance aniithir dark ^a^rof peSs 
: apparently listening with profound attention to one who 

hi^unortte^cn* trf ■ ^e‘“' 8°““ one discours- 

iiig upon the condition of the country and its prosnects I 
joined the circle. But I was disappointed ^Krator 
y-as a follower of Plato, and a teadfer of his pllsJphy 
His aim seeing to be to darken the minds of liis heS 
I Tenements, at least such I though,t the 

effect must be. He clothed his thoughts— if tlimiglits 
I really 'yere any— in such a many^olored cloud of 
poetic diction, that the mind, while it was undoubtedly 

T®i'7ty “m * "'as left in a 

W, w h^f-bewildered state, with visions of beautiful 
I divine truth floating before it, which it in vain attempted 
arrest, and convert to reality. All was obscure 
shadowy, impalpable. Yet was he heard with eveiy testi- 
”'?”y J[eyereaoe> on the part of his audience. They 
evidently thought him original and profound, in proportion 
as he was incomprehensible. I could not help calling to 
mind the remark of the Palmyrene who had just parted 
from me. It is difficult to believe that Plato himself 
labored to be obscure, though some affirm it. I would 
rather believe that his great mind, always searching after 
truth at the greatest heights and lowest depths, often but 
partially seized it, being defeated by its very vastness- yet 
ambitious to reveal it to mankind, he hesitated not to ex- 
nibit it in the form and with the completeness he best 
could. It was necessary, therefore, that what he but half 
jfnew himself, should be imperfectly and darkly stated 
and dimly comprehended by others. For this reason, his 
writings are obscure— obscure, not because of truths for 


178 


ZENOBIA. 


their vastness beyond the reach of oiir minds, but because 
they abound in conceptions but half formed — in^ conse- 
quential reasonings — in logic overlaid and buried be- 
neath a poetic phraseology. They will always be obscure, 
in spite of the labors of the commentators; or, a commen- 
tary can make them plain only by substituting the sense 
of the critic for the no-sense of the original. But Plato 
did not aim at darkness. And could his spirit have listened 
to the jargon which I had just heard proclaimed as 
Platonism, consisting of commonplace thoughts, labori- 
ously tortured and involved, till their true semblance was 
lost, and instead of them a wordy mist — ^glowing indeed 
oftentimes with rainbow colors -^was presented to the mind 
of the hearer for him to feed upon, he would at the mo- 
ment have as heartily despised, as he had formerly gloried, 
in the name and office of philosopher. 

I waited not to learn the results at which this great mas- 
ter of wisdom would arrive, but quickly turned away, and 
advanced still further toward the upper termination of the - 
Portico. The numbers of those who frequented this vast 
pile diminished sensibly at this part of it. Nevertheless, 
many were still like myself wandering listlessly around. 
Quite at the extremity of the building I observed however 
a larger collection than I had noticed before; and, as it 
appeared to me, deeply absorbed by what they heard. I 
cared not to make one of them, having had enough of 
philosophy for the day. But as I stood not far from them, 
idly watching the labors of the workmen who were carry- 
ing up the column of Aurelian — noting how one laid the 
stone which another brought, and how another bore along 
and up the dizzy ladders the mortar which others tern- ' 
pered, and how the larger masses of marble were raised to * 
their places by machines worked by elephants, and how all 
went on in exact order— while I stood thus, the voice of . 
the speaker frequently fell upon my ear, and at last, by its • 
peculiarity, and especially by the unwonted earnestness of 
the tone, drew me away to a position nearer the listening 
crowd. By the words which I now distinctly caught, I ’ 
discovered that it was a Christian who was speaking. I , 
joined the outer circle of hearers, but the preacher — for so 
the Christians term those who declare their doctrines in 

E ublic — was concealed from me by a column. I could 
ear him distinctly, and could see the faces, with their ex-, 


ZEKOBIA. 


179 


prcssions, of those whom, he addres^iPfl Tim 4 . 

r ‘5d“ S" r E 

the voTce fell doubTardTbelierAs 

wt ‘ ‘?s"reT/>Ts:^ ar":; ^ 

and yet as surely I nev^r beforfhea^'rclS te^ 

The thought of Probus flashed across my mind Cd sud- 
changing my place— and by passing round the as 
^mbly coming in front of the preacher-I aHnoe recol-' 
nized the pale and melancholy features of the afficted 

Christian. I was surprised and delfehted. " 


j surprised and delighted. He had' con- 

he wfs hu I had had with him, that 

from^im and I had determined to obtain 

knowM™ oVthp“n ® ah the iiecessaiy 

tCmh fLl 1 ^'i"®‘^‘an institutions and doctrine. Al- 

Tnli/ leaned much, m the meantime, from both 

iu T pTh* still there was much left whiVi 

Prohns probably in a more exact manner, from 

Piobus. I was rejoiced to see him. He was evidently 
drawing to the close of his address. The woi-ds which I 
first caught, were nearly these: 

Thus have I declared to you, Palmyrenes Romans 
and whoever are here, how Christianity seeks the’happiness 
of man, by ^curing his virtue. Its ofiject is your heater 
well-being through the truths it publishes and enforces 

fLnTth^m r“’' ""'*®‘:afandings, not to darken and coni 
found them by words without meaning, but to shed light 

of’th.Vb^’r ^ revelation of those few sublime doctrines 
+L p “ ^ have now discoursed to you. Has the Greek, 
the Roman, or the Persian philosophy, furnished your 
minds with truths like these? Has life a great object, or death 

of 17 ’ systems 

of faith. Systems of faith! I blush to term them so. I 

' si'ln of a priest of the Temple of Jupiter. 

Shall I reveal to you the greater and the lesser mysteries 
of tliat worship.’' 1 see most expressive signs that it can 
not be needful. Why then, if ye yourselves know and 
despise the popular worship, why will you not consider the 
claims of Jesus of Nazareth 
“I despise it not,^ 
honor it/’ 

“ In every nation. 


" cried a voice from the throng, “ I 
continued the preacher, ‘‘and 


180 


ZEKOBTA. 


among all worshipers, are those whom God will accept. 
The sincere ■ offering of the heart will never be refused. 
Socrates, toiling and dying in the cause of truth — though 
that truth, in the light of the Gospel, were error — is be- 
loved of God. But if God has in these latter days an- 
nounced new truth, if He has sent a special messenger to 
teach it, or if it be asserted by persons of intelligence and 
apparent honesty that He has, ought not every sincere lover 
of truth and of God, or the gods, to inquire diligently 
whether it be so or not? Socrates would have done so. 
Search, men of Palmyra, into the certainty of these things. 
These many years has the word of Christ been preached 
in your streets, yet how few followers can as yet be counted 
of Him who came to bless you! Sleep no longer. Close 
not the ear against the parent voice of the Gospel. Pear 
not that the religion of Jesus comes to reign over aught 
but your hearts. It asks no dominion over your temporal 
affairs. It cares not for thrones, nor the sword, nor 
princely revenues, nor seats of honor. It would serve you, 
not rule over you. And the ministers of Christ are your 
servants in spiritual things, seeking not yours, but you.-’^ 

“ Paul! Paul of Antioch !'’'' shouted several voices at 
once. 

“ I defend not Paul of Antioch,^’’ cried Probus, noways 
disconcerted. ‘‘ Judge Christianity, I pray you, not by me, 
not by Paul, but by itself. Because a fool lectures upon 
the philosophy of Plato, you do not therefore condemn 
Plato for a fool. Because a disciple of Zeno lives lux- 
uriously, you do not for that take up a judgment against 
the philosopher himself. Paul of Samosata, not in his 
doctrine, but in his life, is an alien, a foreigner, an adver- 
sary, and no friend or servant of Jesus. Listen, citizens 
of Palmyra, while I read to you what the founder of 
Christianity himself says touching this matter !^^ and he 
drew from beneath his robe a small parchment roll, and 
turning to the part he sought, read in a loud voice words 
of Jesus such as these: He that is greatest among you 
shall be ybur servant. Whosoever shall exalt himself 
shall be abased, and he that shall humble himself shall be 
exalted.’’^ This is the doctrine of Christ. According to 
Jesus, ‘ he among his disciples is greatest, who performs 
for others the most essential service.^ He then turned 
to another part of the book, and read a long^ and as it 


ZEKOBIA. 


181 


struck me a beautiful passage, in which the author of 
Christianity was represented as stooping and washing the 
feet of His disciples, to enforce in a more lively way His 
doctrine of humility and philanthropy. When he had 
finished it, a deep silence had fallen upon those who 
listened. It was broken by the voice of Probus once more 
saying in low and sorrowful tones: “I confess— with 
grief and shame I confess — that pride, and arrogance, and 
the lust of power, are already among the ministers of 
Jesus. They are sundering themselves from their master, 
and thrusting a sword into the life of His Gospel. And if 
this faith of Christ should ever — as a prophetic eye sees it 
so sure to do — fill the throne of the world, and sit in 
Caesar's place, may the God who gave it appear for it, that 
it perish not through the encumbering weight of earthly 
glory. Through tribulation and persecution it has held on 
its way without swerving. Prosperity begins already to 
weaken and defile — " 

What more Probus would have added, I know not; for 
at this point an unusual disturbance arose in the streets. 
Trumpets sent forth their long peal, and a troop of out- 
riders, as accompanying some great personage, rode rapidly 
along, followed by the crowd of idle lookers-on. And im- 
mediately a chariot appeared, with a single individual 
seated in it, who seemed to take great pleasure in his own 
state. Ho sooner had the pageant arrived over against 
that part of the Portico where we stood, than one and 
another of Probus's hearers exclaimed: 

‘‘Ha! Paul! Paul of Antioch! Behold a Christian serv- 
ant!" And the whole throng turned away in confusion 
to watch the spectacle. 

“ An unhappy commentary upon the doctrine," said a 
Palmyrene to me, as he turned sneeringly away. 

“ What say you to this?" asked another, of Probus him- 
self, as he descended from his rostrum, and stood gazing 
with the rest, but with a burning cheek and downcast eye. 

“ I say," he replied, “ what I have said before, that 
yonder bishop, however Christianized his head may be is a 
misbeliever in his heart. He is a true anti-Christ." 

“ I am disposed to trust you," rejoined the other. “ I 
have heard you not without emotion. We have had among 
us many who have declared the doctrine of Christ. But I 


182 


ZENOBIA. 


have heeded them not. It is different with me now. I am 
desirous to know what this doctrine of Christ is. I have 
been impressed by what you recited from the writings of 
Jesus. How, Christian, shall I apply myself, and where, 
to learn more than I know now?^^ 

“ If thou wilt learn of so humble a teacher as I am, 
who yet know somewhat of what Christianity really is — 
come and hear me at the place of Christian worship in the 
street that runs behind the great Persian Inn. There, this 
evening when the sun is down, shall I preach again the 
truth in Christ. 

‘‘ I shall not fail to be there, said the other, and moved 
away. 

‘‘ Nor shall I, Probus,^^ said I, heartily saluting him. 

“ Noble Piso!’^ he cried, his countenance suddenly 
growing bright as the sun, “ I am glad to meet you at 
length. And have you too heard a Christian preach? A 
senator of Eome?” 

“ I have; and I shall gladly hear more. I am not, 
however, a Christian, Probus; I profess to be but a seeker 
after truth, if perhaps it may be found in your faith, hav- 
ing failed to discover it among dead or living philosophers. 
I shall hear you to-night. 

After many mutual inquiries concerning each other’s 
welfare, we separated. 

Upon returning to the house of Gracchus, and finding 
myself again in the company of Fausta and her father, I 
said: “ I go to-night to hear a Christian, the Christian 
Probus, discourse concerning the Christian doctrine. Will 
you accompany me, Fausta?” 

Not now, Lucius,” she replied; my head and heart 
are too full of the interests and cares of Zenobia, to allow 
me to think of aught else. No other reason, I assure you, 
prevents. I have no fears of the opinions of others to "hin- 
der me. When our public affairs are once more in a set- 
tled state, I shall not be slow to learn more of the religion 
of which you speak. Julia’s attachment to it, of itself, has 
almost made a convert of me already, so full of sympathy 
in all things is a true affection. But the heart is a poor 
logician. It darts to its object, overleaping all reasons, 
and may as well rest in error as truth. Whatever the 
purity of J ulia and the honesty and vigor of Zenobia ac- 


ZENOBIA. 


183 

cept and worship, I believe I should, without farther in- 
vesfcigation, though they were the fooleries and gods of 
Vi yo",®Kcoeed m your search of the Arab?” 
i A l^as. To tell the truth, I was 

fnnn.f ^ object, first by the excitement I 

the people on the affairs of the 
kingdom, and afterward by the spectacles of the Portico, 
and the preaching of Probus, whom I encountered there.” 

in the evening, soon as the sun was set, I wound my 
way to the Christians" place of worship. ^ 

^ It-was in a part of the city remote and obscure, indicat- 
lEig very plainly that whatever Christianity may be destined 
to accomplish in this cty, it has done little as yet. Indeed 
do not permve w^hat principle of strength or power it 
possesses, su&cient to force its way through the world, 
and into the hearts of men. It allows not the use of the 
sword; it resorts not to the civil arm; it is devoid of all 
that shou d win upon the senses of the multitude, being, 
beyond all other forms of faith, remarkable for its simplit 
ity, for Its spiritual and intellectual character. MoreoW 
It IS stern and uncompromising in its morality, requiring 
the strictest purity of life, and making virtue to consist 
not in the outward act, but in the secret motive which 
prompts the act. It is at open and unintermitting war 
with all the vain and vicious inclinations of the heart. It 
insists upon an undivided sovereignty over the whole 
character and life of the individual. And in return for 
such surrender, it bestows no other reward than an inward 
consciousness of right action, and of the approbation of 
Cod,^ with the hope of immortality. It seems thus to have 
man s whole nature, and all the institutions of the world, 
especially of other existing religions, to contend with. If 
it prevail against such odds, and with such means as it 
alone employs, it surely will carry along with it its own de- 
monstration of its divinity. But how it shall have power 
to achieve such conquests, I now can not see nor con- 
jecture. 

Arriving at the place designated by Probus, I found a 
low building of stone, which seemed to have been diverted 
from farmer uses of a different kind, to serve its present 
purpose as a temple of religious worship. Passing through 
a door, of height scarce sufficient to admit a person of 
ordinary stature, I reached a vestibule, from whicli; by a 


184 


ZENOBIA. 


descent of a few steps I entered a large circular apartment, 
low but not inelegant, with a vaulted ceiling supported by 
chaste Ionic columns. The assembly was already seated, 
but the worship not begun. The service consisted of 
prayers to God, offered in the name of Christ; of reading 
a portion of the sacred books of the Christians, of preach- 
ing, of music sung to religious words, and voluntary offer- 
ings of money or other gifts for the poor. 

I can not doubt that you are repelled, my Curtius, by 
this account of a worship of such simplicity as to amount 
almost to poverty. But I must tell you that never have I 
been so overwhelmed by emotions of the noblest kind, as 
when sitting in the midst of these despised Nazarenes, and 
joining in their devotions; for to sit neuter in such a scene, 
it was not in my nature to do, nor would it have been in 
yours, much as you affect to despise this “ superstitious 
race.^^ This was indeed worship. It was a true commun- 
ion of the creature with the Creator. Never before had I 
heard a prayer. How different from the loud and de- 
clamatory harangues of our priests! the full and rich tones 
of the voice of Probus, expressive of deepest reverence of 
the Being he addressed, and of profoundest humility on 
the part of the worshiper, seeming too as if uttered in no 
part by the usual organs of speech, but as if pronounced by 
the very heart itself, fell upon the charmed ear like notes 
from another world. There was a new and strange union, 
both in the manner of the Christian and in the sentiments 
he expressed, of an awe such as I never before witnessed 
in man toward the gods, and a familiarity and child-like 
confidence, that made me feel as if the God to whom he 
prayed was a father and a friend, in a much higher sense 
than we are accustomed to regard the Creator of the uni- 
verse. It was a child soliciting mercies from a kind and 
considerate parent — conscious of much frailty and ill 
desert, but relying too with a perfect trust, both upon the 
equity and benignity of the God of his faith. I received 
an impression also from the quiet and breathless silence of 
the apartment, from the low and but just audible voice of 
the preacher, of the near neighborhood of gods and men, 
of the universal presence of the infinite spirit of the Deity, 
which certainly I had never received before. I could hardly 
divest myself of the feeling that the God addressed was in 
truth in the piiidst of the temple; and I found my eye 


ZENOBIA. 


185 

turning to the ceiling, as if there must be some visible 
manifestation of his presence. I wish you could have been 
there. I am sure that after witnessing such devotions, 
contempt or ridicule would be the last emotions you would 
ever entertain toward this people. Neither could you any 
longer apply to them the terms fanatic, enthusiast, or 
superstitious. You would have seen a calmness, a sobrietv 
a decency, so remarkable; you would have heard senti- 
ments so rational, so instructive, so exalted, that you 
would have felt your prejudices breaking away and disan- 
pearing without any volition or act of your own. Nav 
against your will they would have fallen. And nothih^ 
would have been left but the naked question— not is this 
fSse? worthy — but is this religion true or 

When the worship had been begun by prayer to God in 
the name of Christ, then one of the officiating priests 
opened the book of the Christians, the Gospels, and read 
troni the Greek in which they are written— changing it into 
the Jralmyrene dialect as he read — diverse passages, some 
relating to the life of Jesus, and others which were extracts 
of letters written by apostles of his to individuals or 
churches, to which I listened with attention and pleas- 
ure. When this was over. Probus rose, standing upon a 
low platform like the rostrums from which our lawyers 
plead, and first reading a sentence from the sayings of 
Paul, an apostle of Jesus, of which this was the substance, 
Jesus came into the world, bringing life and immortality 
to light, he delivered, with a most winning and persua- 
sive beauty, a discourse, or oration, the purpose of which 
was to show, that Jesus was sent into the world to bring to 
light or make plain the true character and end of the life 
on earth, and also the reality and true nature of a future 
-existence. In doing this, he exposed — but in a manner so 
' full of the most earnest humanity that no one could be 
offended — the errors of many of the philosophers concern- 
ing a happy life, and compared with the greatest force 
their requisitions with those of the Gospel, as he termed 
his religion; showing what unworthy and inadequate con- 
ceptions had prevailed as to what constitutes a man truly 
great, and good, and happy. Then he went on to show, 
that it was such a life only as he had described that could 
make a being like man worthy of immortality; that al- 


186 


ZEJ^OBIA. 


though Jesus had proved the reality of a future and im- 
mortal existence, yet he had, with even more importunity, 
and earnestness, and frequency, laid down his precepts 
touching a virtuous life on earth. He finally went into the 
Christian argument in proof of a future existence, and ex- 
horted those who heard him, and who desired to inhabit 
the Christianas heaven, to live the life which Christ had 
brought to light, and himself had exemplified on earth, 
laboring to impress their minds with the fact, that it was a 
superior goodness which made Jesus what he was, and that 
it must be by a similar goodness that his followers could fit 
themselves for the immortality he had revealed. All this 
was with frequent reference to existing opinions and prac- 
tices, and with large illustrations drawn from ancient and 
modern religious history. 

What struck me most, after having listened to the dis- 
course of Probus to the end, was the practical aim and 
character of the religion he preached. It was no fanciful 
speculation nor airy dream. It was not a plaything of the 
imagination he had been holding up to our contemplation, 
but a series of truths and doctrines bearing with eminent 
directness, and with a perfect adaptation, upon human 
life, the effect and issue of which, widely and cordially re- 
ceived, must be to give birth to a condition of humanity 
not now anywhere to be found on the earth. I was star- 
tled by no confounding and overwhelming mysteries; nei- 
ther my faith nor my reason was burdened or offended; but 
I was shown, as by a light from heaven, how truly the 
path which leads to the possession and enjoyment of a fut- 
ure existence coincides with that which conducts to the 
best happiness of earth. It was a religion addressed to 
the reason and the affections; and evidence enough was 
afforded in the representations given of its more impor- 
tant truths, that it was furnished with ample power to con- 
vince and exalt the reason, to satisfy and fill the affections. 
Ho sooner shall I have returned to the leisure of my home, 
to my study and my books, than I shall seriously under- 
take an examination of the Christian argument. It surely 
becomes those who fill the place in the social state which I 
do, to make up an intelligent judgment upon a question 
like this, so that I may stand prepared to defend it, and 
urge it upon my countrymen, if I am convinced of its 
truth and of its ^vantage to my country, or assail and op- 


ZENOBIA. 


187 

pose it, if I shall determine it to be what it is so frequently 
termed, a pernicious and hateful superstition. 

When the discourse was ended, of the power and various • 
beauty of which I can not pretend properly to acquaint 
you, another prayer longer and more general was ottered, 
to parts of which there were responses by the hearers. 
Then, as a regular part of the service, voluntary offerings 
and gifts were made by those present for the poor. More 
than once, as a part of the worship, hymns were sung to 
some plain and simple air, in which all the assembly 
joined. Sometimes, to the services which I witnessed. 
Probus informed me there is added a further ceremony, 
called the “ Lord^s supper,'’^ being a social service, during 
which bread and wine are partaken of, in memory of Jesus 
Christ. This was the occasion, in former times, of heavy 
charges against the Christians of rioting and intemperance, 
and even of more serious crimes. But Probus assures me 
that the last were even then groundless, and that now noth- 
ing can be more blameless than this simple spiritual re- 
past. 

The worship being ended, and Probus having descended 
from his seat, I accosted him, giving him what I am cer- 
tain were very sincere thanks for the information I had ob- 
tained from his oration, concerning the primary articles of 
the Christian faith. 

‘‘It has been,"^ said he in reply, “ with utmost satisfac- 
tion, that I beheld a person of your rank and intelligence 
among my hearers. The change of the popular belief 
throughout the Eoman empire, which must come, will be 
a less tumultuous one, in proportion as we can obtain even 
so much as a hearing from those who sit at the head of so- 
ciety in rank and intelligence. Let me make a sincere 
convert of a Eoman emperor, and in a few years the tem- 
ples of Paganism would lie even with the ground. Believe 
me, Christianity has penetrated deeper and further, than 
you in the seats of power dream of. While you are satis- 
fied with things as they are, and are content to live on and 
enjoy the leisure and honors the gods crown you with, the 
classes below you, less absorbed by the things of the world 
— because perhaps having fewer of them — ^give their 
thoughts to religion and the prospects which it holds out 
of a happier existence after the present. Having little 
here, they are less tied to the world than others, and more 


188 


ZEKOBIA. 


solicitous concerning the more and the better, of which 
Christianity speaks. 

“lam not insensible/^ I replied, “ to the truth of what 
you say. The cruelties, moreover, exercised by the emper- 
ors toward the Christians, the countless examples of those 
who have died in torments for the truth of this religion, 
have drawn largely and deeply upon the sympathy of the 
general heart, and disposed it favorably toward belief. In 
Kome, surrounded by ancient associations, embosomed in a 
family remarkable for its attachment to the ancient order 
of things; friends of power, of letters, and philosophy, I 
hardly was conscious of the existence of such a thing as 
Christianity. The name was never heard where I moved. 
Portia, my noble mother, with ' a heart beating warm for 
everything human,, instinctively religious beyond any whom 
I have ever seen or known, of the Christian or any other 
faith, living but to increase the* happiness of all around 
her, was yet — shall I say it? a bigot to the institutions of 
her country. The government and the religion under 
which all the Pisos had lived and flourished, which had 
protected the rights and nursed the virtues of her great 
husband and his family, were good enough for her, for her 
children, and for all. Her ear was closed against the 
sound of Christianity, as naturally as an adder^s against all 
sound. She could not, and never did hear it. From her 
I received my principles and flrst impressions. Not even 
the history, nor so much as a word of the sufferings, of 
the Christians ever fell on my ear. I grew up in all things 
a Piso; the true child of my mother, in all save her divine 
virtues. And it was not till a few years since, when I broke 
Icose from domestic and Homan life, and traveled to 
Greece and Egypt, and now to the East, that I became 
practically aware of the existence of such a people as the 
Christians; and my own is, I suppose, but a specimen of the 
history of my order. I now perceive, that while we have 
slept, truth has been advancing its posts, till the very cita- 
del of the world is about to be scaled. The leaven of 
Christianity is cast into the lump, and will work its neces- 
sary end. It now, I apprehend, will matter but little what 
part the noble and the learned shall take, or even the men 
in power. The people have taken theirs, and the rest 
must follow, at least submit. Do I overestimate the in- 
roads of the religion upon the mmd and heart of the world?'" 


ZEITOBIA. 


189 

“I am persuaded you do not,” replied the Christian. 

(jiV6 me, as I said before, one Roman emperor for a con- 
insure the immediate and final triumph 
of Christianity. But in the meantime, another Nero, 
another Domibian, another Decius, may arise, and the 
bloody acts of other persecutions stain the annals of our 
guilty empire.'’^ 

The gods forbid said I; ‘‘ yet who shall say it may 
not be. Much as I honor Aurelian for his many virtues, 
I feel not sure that in the right hands he might not be 
roused to as dark deeds as any before him — darker they 
would be— inasmuch as his nature for sternness and sever- 
ity has not, I think, been equalled. If the mild and just 
Valerian could be so wrought upon by the malignant Mac- 
rianus, what security have we in the case of Aurelian? 
He is naturally superstitious.’’^ 

Oh, that in Aurelian,’^ said the Christian, were 
lodged the woman’s heart of Zenobia! we then could trust 
to-morrow as well as enjoy to-day. Here no laws seal the 
lips of the Christian : he may tell his tale to as many as 
choose to hear. I learn, since my arrival, that the Prin- 
cess J ulia is favorably inclined toward the Christian cause. 
Host thou know what the truth may be?” 

‘‘ It is certain that she admires greatly the character and 
the doctrine of Christ, and I should think, believes; but 
she does not as yet openly confess herself a follower of the 
Nazarene. She is perhaps as much a Christian as 
Zenobia is a Jewess. ■” 

“I may well rejoice in that,” replied the Christian, 
‘‘ yes, and do. 

The lights of the apartment were now extinguished, and 
we parted. 

If I am ever again in Rome, my Curtius, it shall be my 
care to bring to your acquaintance and Lucilia’s the Chris- 
tian Probus. Pa^ewelll 


EOT OE PIRST HALF. 


190 


ZENOBIA. 


NOTE. 

Some readers may he pleased to be able to compare to- 
gether the representations of Piso and those of Pollio. 

“ Et quidem peregrina, nomine Zenobia, de qua jam multa dicta 
sunt, qum se de Cieopatrarum. Ptolemfleoiumque gente jactaret, 
post Odenatum maritum imperiali sagulo perfuso per humeros 
liabitu, ^ douis ornata, diademate etiam accepto, nomine filiorum 
Herennimii et Timolai diutius quam fa3mineus sexus patiebatur, 
imperavit. Si quidem Gallieno adliuc regente Remp. regale mulier 
superba munus obtinuit; et Claudio bellis Gottliicis occupato, vix 
flenique ab Aureliano victa et triumphata, concessit in jura Rom.” 
“ Vixit (Zenobia) regali pompa, more magis Persico. Adorata est 
more regum Persarum. Convivata est imperatorum, more Rom. 
Ad condones galeata processit, cum limbo imrpureo, gemmis de- 
pendentibus per ultimam timbriam mediaetiamcyclade veluti tibula 
muliebri astricta, bracbio saepe nude-. Fuit vultu subaquilo fusci 
coloris, oculis supra modum vigentibus,* nigris, spiritus divini, 
venustatis iiicredibilis; tantus candor in dentibus, ut margaritas 
earn plerique putarent habere, non dentes. Vox clara et virilis; 
severitas, ubi necessitas postulabat, tyrannorum; bonorum princi- 
pum dementia, ubi pietas requirebat. Larga prudenter, conserva- 
trix thesaurorum ultra faemineum modum. Usa vehiculo carpeu- 
tario, raro pilento, equo saepius. Fertur autem vel tria, vel quatuor 
milliaria frequenter earn peditibus ambulasse. Nata est Hispanorum 
Cupiditate; bibit saepe cum dupibus, quum esset alias sobria; bibit 
etiam cum Persis atque Armeniis, ut eos vinceret. Usa est vasis 
aureis gemmatis ad convivia, ejuibus et Cleopatra usa est. In minis- 
terio Eunuchos, gravioris astatis liabuit, puellas nimis raras. Filios 
Latine loqui jusserat, adeo ut GraBce vel difficile vel raro loquereutur. 
Ipsa Latini sermonis non usquequaque ignara, sed loqueretur pu- 
d()re cohibita; loquebatur et Egyptiac^ ad perfectum modum. 
Historic Alexandrine atque Orientalis ita perita ut earn epitomasse 
hicatur: Latinam autem Grece legerat.” ” Ducta est igitur per 
triumphum ea specie ut nihil pompabilius populo Rom. vederetur, 
jam primum ornata gemmis ingentibus, ita at ornanientorum onere 
laboraret. Fertur enim mulier fortissima sepissime restitisse, quum 
diceret se gemmorum onera ferre non posse. Vincti erant preterea 
pedes auro, manus etiam catenis aureis; nec coilo aureum vinculum 
deerat, quod scurra Persicus preferebat. Huic ab Aureliano vivere 
^ncessum est, Ferturque vixisse cum liberis, matrone jam more 
Romane, data sibi possessione in Tiburti que hodieque Zenobia 
dicitur, non longe ab Adriani palatio, atque ab eo loco cui nomen 
est Conche.”— ” Hist. Aug. Lugd. Batav.,” 1661, p. 787. 

“ Ille (Odenatus) plane cum uxore Zenobia non solum Orientem 
quern jam in pristinum reformaverat statum, sed omnes omnino' 


Ingentibus, 


J^ENOBIA. 


191 

reformasset, vir acer in bellis, ct, quantum pleri- 
que scnptores loquuntur, veuatu uiemorabili semper inclvtus aui a 
pnma state capiendis leonibus et pardis, cervis, 
tribus animahbus, sudorem officii virilis impendit, quique semner 
m sylvis ac montibus vixit, perferens calorem, pluvias et omnia 
mala que m se continent venatoriae voluptates; quibiis duratis 
Persicis tulit. Non aliter etiam conjuge 
multorum sententia forlior marito fuisse perliibetur: 
rm-npWP nobilissima, Orientalium faeminarum et (ut 

Coinelius Capitolinus assent) speciocissima. ” — Ib. p 771. ^ 

Also what Aureliaii himself says in a letter to the Roman 
bon ate, preserved by Pollio. 

munus impleverim, 

rnnt reprehcnduiit satis lauda- 

qua IS ilia est rnulier, quam prudens in consiliis, 
quam constans in dispositionibus, quam erga milites gravis, quam 
arp quum necessitas postulet, quam tristis quum severitas poscat. 
^ossuin dicere tlhn.'i esse quod Odenatus Persos vicit, ac Sapore 
m^ato Ctesiphontem usque pervenit. Possum asserere, tanto aW' 
Urientalis et Egyptiorum populos timori miilierem fuisse, iit se non 
Araoes, non barraceni, non Armeni commoverent. Nec effo illi 
vitam conservassem nisi earn scissem multum Rom. RepuS pro- 
luisse, quum sibi, vel liberis suis Orientis servaret imperium,” etc. 


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388 Add-e’s Husband ; or, Through 


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504 My Poor Wife.... 10 

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246 A Fatal Dower 10 

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229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 10 

236 Which Shall it Be? 20 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. . . 10 

490 A Second Life 20 

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278 For Life and Love 10 

481 The House That Jack Built 10 

F. Austey’s Works. 

59 Vice Versa 20 

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603 The Tinted Venus. A Farcical 
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R. M. Ballantyue’s Works. 

89 The Red Eric 10 

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96 Erling the Bold 19 


AUTHORS. 


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199 The Fisher Village 10 

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344 “ The Wearing of the Green ” . . 20 

547 A Coquette’s Conquest 20 

585 A Drawn Game ^ 

M. Betham-Ed wards’ 8 Works. 

273 Love and Mirage ; or. The Wait- 
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579 The Flower of Doom, and Other 

Stories lO 

594 Doctor Jacob 20 

Walter Besant’s Works. 

97 All in a Garden Fair 20 

137 Uncle Jack 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune 10 

146 Love Finds the Way, and Other f 
Stories. By Besant and Rice 10 ' 

230 Dorothy Forster 20 

824 In Luck at Last. 10 

651 “ Self or Bearer 10 

William Black’s Works. 

i Yolande 20 

18 Shandon Bells 20 

21 Sunrise : A Story of Those 

Times 20 

23 A Princess of Thule 20 

39 In Silk Attire ^ 

44 Macleod of Dare 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a 

Phaeton 20 

70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance K 

, - ■•(I ■'i ■> ^ 


TRE SEASIDE LIBRARY. —Pocket Pmim. 


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78 Madcap Violet ^ 

81 A Daughter of Heth 30 

134 Three Feathers ^ 

125 The Monarch of Mincing Lane. 30 

126 Kilmeny ^ 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 30 
265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 

Aflfaii-s and Other Adventures 20 
472 The Wise Women of Inverness. 10 
627 White Heather 30 


R. D. Blackmore’s Works. 

67 Lorna Doone. 1st half 30 

67 Lorna Doone. 2d half 20 

427 The Remarkable History of Sir 

Thomas Upmore, Bart., M. P. 20 

615 Mary Anerley 20 

625 Erema; or, My Father’s Sin. . . 20 

629 Cripps, the Carrier 20 

680 Cradock Nowell. First half... 20 

630 Cradock Nowell. Second half. 20 

631 Cliristowell. A Dartmoor Tale 20 

6:32 < lara Vaughan 20 

633 The Maid of Sker. First half. . 20 
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636 Alice Lorraine. First half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. Second half.. 30 


Miss M. E. Braddon’s Works. 


35 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 

1.53 The Golden Calf 30 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery. . 20 

263 An Ishmaelite 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss Braddon 20 

434 Wy Hard’s Weird 30 

478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
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478 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. Part II 20 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

487 Put to the Test. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard's Daughter.. . . 20 

489 Rupert Godwin 30 

495 Mount Royal 20 

496 Only a Woman. Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 30 

497 The Lady’s Mile 20 

498 Only a Clod 20 

499 The Cloven Foot 20 

611 A Strange World 20 

616 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

634 Strangers and Pilgrims 30 

629 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

642 Fenton’s Quest 20 

644 Cut by the County ; or, Grace 

Darnel 10 

648 The Fatal Marriage, and The 
Shadow in the Corner 10 


549 Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 
er’s Secret, and Geor ge Caul- 
field’s Journey h* 

552 Hostages to Fortune 20 

553 Birds of Prey 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (Se- 

quel to “ Birds of Prey ”) — 20 
557 To the Bitter End 30 

559 Taken at the Flood 20 

560 Asphodel 20 

561 Just as I am ; or, A Living Lie 20 

567 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

570 John March mont’s Legacy. ... 20 
618 The Mistletoe Bough. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 


Works by Charlotte M. Braeme, 
Author of “ Bora Thorne.” 

19 Her Mother’s Sin 10 , 

61 Dora Thorne 20 

54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 20 

68 A Queen Amongst Women 10 ' 

69 Madolin’s Lover 20 

73 Redeemed by Love 20 

76 Wife in Name Only 30 

79 Wedded and Par ted 10 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice 10 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. . 10 

190 Romance of a Black Veil 10 

220 Which Loved Him Best? 10 

^7 Repented at Leisure 20 

^9 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter ”. . 10 
250 Stmshiue and Roses; or, Di- 
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254 The Wife’s Secret, and Fair 

but False 10 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime 10 

^7 At War With Herself 10 

2^ From Gloom to Sunlight 10 

291 Love’s Wa rfare 10 

292 A Golden Heart 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin 10 . 

294 Hilda 10 / 

295 A Woman’s War 10 i 

296 A Rose in Thorns 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly .. 10 ' 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from the Sea 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 
ter than Death 10 

.304 In Cupid’s Net 10 : 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline’s Dream If 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for 

a Day 16 

307 Two Kisses, and Like no Other 

Love 10 ^ 

808 Beyond Pardon 20 

411 A Bitter Atonement 20 j 

433 My Sister Kate 10 >. 

459 A Woman’s Temptation 20 r' 

41)0 Under a Shadow 20 1, 

465 The Earl’s Atonement 20 

466 Betw^een Two Loves 20 

467 A SU’uaBEgle for a Bing. 20 


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409 Lady Dainer’s Secret 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly 20 

471 Thrown on the World 20 

476 Between Two Sins 10 

616 Put Asunder ; or. Lady Castle- 

maine’s Divorce 20 

576 Her Martyrdom . 20 


Charlotte Bronte’s Works. 

15 Jane Eyre. 20 

57 Shirley 20 

Khoda Broughton’s Works. 

86 Belinda 20 

101 Second Thoughts 20 

227 Nancy 20 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10 

Robert Buchanan’s Works. 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

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154 Annan Water 20 

181 The New Abelard 10 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan 10 

646 The Master of the Mine 10 

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875 A Ride to Khiva 20 

884 On Horseback Through Asia 

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521 Entangled 20 

538 A Fair Country Maid 20 

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445 The Shadow of a Crime 20 

520 She’s All the World to Me 10 


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396 Robert Ord’s Atonement 20 

551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial 20 

608 For Lilias 20 

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167 Heart and Science 20 

1^ No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

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175 Love’s Random Shot 10 

233 “ I Say No or, The Love-Let- 
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508 The Girl at the Gate 10 

591 The Queen of Hearts 20 

613 The Ghost’s Touch, and Percy 

and the Prophet 10 

•23 MyLacly’s Money 10 


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240 Called Back H 

251 The Daughter of tlie Stars, and 
Other Tales It 

301 Dark Days 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest 10 

502 Carriston’s Gift 16 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stories 10 

543 A Family Affair 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and Other 

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60 The Last of the Mohicans 20 

63 The Spy 20 

309 The Pathfinder 20 

310 The Prairie 20 

318 The Pioneers ; or, The Sources 

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349 The Two Admirals 20 

359 The Water-Witch 20 

361 The Red Rover, 20 

373 Wing and Wing 20 

378 Homeward Bound; or, The 

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379 Home as Found. (Sequel to 

“ Homeward Bound”) 20 

380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 

Knoll 20 

385 The Headsman ; or. The Ab- 

baye des Vignerons 20 

394 The Bravo 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln; or. The Leag- 
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400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. . . 20 

413 Afloat and Ashore 20 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 

“Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

415 The Ways of the Hour 20 

416 Jack 3’ier ; or, The Florida Reef 20 

419 TheChainbearer ; or,The Little- 

page Mamiscripts 20 

420 Satanstoe; or. The Littlepage 

Manuscripts 20 

421 The Redskins; or, Indian and 

Injin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts 20 

422 Precaution 20 

423 The Sea Lions; or. The Lost 

Sealers 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 

Voyage to Cathay 20 

425 The Oak-Openings ; or. The Bee- 

Hunter 20 

431 The Monikins 20 


Georgiana M. Craik’s Works. 


450 Godfrey Helstone 20 

606 Mrs. Hollyer. 20 


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207 Pretty Miss Neville 20 

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412 Some One fUse 20 


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121 Maid of Athens ^ 

602 Camiola • • • — 

685 Eng: laud Under Gladstone. 

1880—1885 20 

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207 Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 

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268 Ladv Gay’s Pride; or, The 

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269 Lancaster’s Choice 

316 Sworn to Silence; or, Ahne 

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Jean Middlemas’s Works. 

155 Lady Muriel’s Seci’et 20 

639 Silvermead 

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172 “Golden Girls’’ ^ 

346 Tumbledown Farm 10 

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11 John Halifax, Gentleman ^ 

245 Miss Tommy id 

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58 By the Gate of the Sea 10 

195 “ The Way of the World ” 20 

320 A Bit of Human Nature jO 

661 Rainbow Gold ^ 

674 First Person Singular 20 

Works by the aiitlior of 
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219 Lady Clare : or. The Master of 

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266 The Water-Babies. Rev. Chas. | 

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289 John Bull’s Neighbor in Her 
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329 The Polish Jew. (Translated 
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i'BK imnAnr.-Pocht pah, mi. 


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10 


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Read® 

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Vince 

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Pastor 20 

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phry Ward.. 10 

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Elliot 

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333 Introduced to Society. Hamil- 
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426 Venus’s Doves. Ida Ashworth 

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4 . 5 ? 


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2<1 


20 


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483 Betwixt My Love and Me 10 

485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban jq 

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532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 

536 Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 
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533 Hazel Kirke. Marie Walsh 

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James Grant 

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Z E N O B I A, ’ -: 

OR, 

THE FALL OF. PALMYRA 


IN LETTERS OP L. MANLIUS PISO, FROM PALMYRA, TO 
HIS FRIEND MARCUS CURTIUS AT ROME. 


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( f 




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ZENOBIA. 


LETTER X. 

As I returned from the worship of the Christians to the* 
house of Gracchus^ my thoughts wandered from the sub- 
jects which had just occupied my mind to the condition of 
the country, and the prospect now growing more and more 
portentous of an immediate rupture with Rome. On my 
way I passed through streets of more than Roman mag- 
nificence, exhibiting all the signs of wealth, taste, re- 
finement, and luxury. The happy, light-hearted populace 
were moving through them, enjoying at their leisure the 
calm beauty of the evening, or hastening to or from some 
place of festivity. The earnest tone of conversation, the 
loud laugh, the witty retort, the merry jest, fell upon my 
ear from one and another as I passed along. From the 
windows of the palaces of the merchants and nobles, the 
rays of innumerable lights streamed across my path, giving 
to the streets almost the brilliancy of day; and the sound 
of music, either of martial instruments, or of the harp ac- 
companied by the voice, at every turn arrested my atten- 
tion, and made me pause to listen. 

A deep melancholy came over me. It seemed to me that 
the days of this people were numbered, and that the gods 
intending their ruin had first made them mad. The gay- 
ety appeared to me no other than madness. They were like 
the gladiators of our circuses, who, doomed to death, pass 
the last days of life in a delirium of forced and frantic joy. 
Many of the inhabitants I could not but sujDpose utterly 
insensible to the dangers which impend — or ignorant of 
them; but more I believe are cheerfid, and even gay, 
through a mad contempt of them. They look back upon 
their long and uninterrupted prosperity — they call to mind 
their late glorious achievements mider Odenatus and their 


6 


ZENOBIA. 


Queen — they think of the wide extent of their empire— 
they remember that Longinus is their minister, and Zenobia 
still their Queen — and give their fears to the winds. A con- 
test with Home they approach as they would the games of 
the amphitheater. 

The situation of their city, defended, as it is by the wide- 
stretching deserts, is indeed enough of itself to inspire the 
people with a belief that it is impregnable. It requires an 
effort, I am aware, to admit the hkeldiood of an army 
from the far west first overcoming the dangers of the desert 
and then leveling the walls of the city, which seem more 
like ramparts of Nature^ s making, so massy are they, than 
any work of man. And the Palmyrenes have certainly 
also some excuse in the wretched management of our gen- 
erals, ever since the expedition of Valerian, and in the brill- 
iancy of their own achievements, for thinking well of 
themselves, and anticipating, without much apprehension 
for the issue, a war with us. But these and the like apolo- 
gies, however they may serve for the common people, surely 
are of no force in their application to the intelligent, and 
such as fill the high places of the kingdom. They know 
that although upon some mere question of honor or of 
boundary, it might be very proper and politic to fight a 
single battle rather than tamely submit to an encroach- 
ment, it is quite another thing when the only aim of the 
war is to see which is the stronger of the two — which is to 
be master. This last, what is it but madness? the mad- 
ness of pride and ambition in the Queen — ^in the people the 
madness of a love and a devotion to her, unparalleled since 
the world began. A blindness as of death has seized them 
all. 

Thinking of these things, and full of saddest forebodings 
as to the fate of this most interesting and polished people, 
I reached the gate of the palace of Gracchus. The in- 
mates, Gracchus and Fausta, I learned from' Milo, were at 
the palace of the Queen, whither I was instructed by them 
to resort at the request of Zenobia herself. The chariot of 
my host soon bore me there. It was with pleasure that I 
greeted this unexpected good fortune. I had not even 
seen the Queen since the day passed at her villa, and I was 
not a little desirous, before the embassadors should receive 
their final answer, to have one more opportunity of con- 
versing with her. 


ZEKOBIA. 


The moment I entered the apartment where the Queen 
was with her guests, I perceived that all state was laid 
aside, and that we were to enjoy each other with the same 
social ease as when in the country, or as on the first even- 
ing m the gardens of the palace. There was on this oc- 
casion no prostration, and no slave crouched at her feet' 
and all the various Persian ceremonial, in which this proud 
wonian so delights, was dispensed with. The room in 
which we met w^ large, and opening on two of its sides 
upon those lofty Corinthian porticoes, which add so greatly 
to the magnificence of this palace. Light was so disposed 
^ to shed a soft and moon-hke radiance, which, without 
dazzling, perfectly revealed every person and object, even 
to the minutest beauties of the paintings upon the walls 
and of the statuary that offered to the eye the masterpieces 
ot ancient and modern sculpture. The company was scat- 
tered ; some being seated together in conversation, others 
observing the works of art, others pacing the marble floors 
of the porticoes, their forms crossing and recrossing the am- 
ple^ arched door-ways which opened upon them. 

AYe feared,^ ^ said the Queen, advancing toward me as I 
entered, ‘ that we were not to be so happy as to see you. 
My other friends have already passed a precious hour with 
me. But every sacrifice to the affections, be it ever so 
slight, IS a virtue, and therefore you are still an object of 
praise, rather than of censure. 

I said in reply that an affair of consequence had detained 
me, or I should have been earlier at the house of Gracchus, 
so as to have accompanied Fausta. 

Fausta, who had been sitting with the Queen, now came 
forward, Julia leaning on her arm, and said, And what 
do you imagine to be the affair of consequence that has de- 
prived us of Piso^s company?'’^ 

“ I can not tell, indeed,’^ replied Zenobia. 

“ J ulia at least,"" said Fausta, will applaud him, when 
she hears that he has just come from an assembly of 
Christians. May^ I ask, Lucius, what new truth you have 
learned with which to enlighten us.^ But your counte- 
nance tells me I must not jest. There — let me smooth 
that brow and make my peace. But in seriousness, I hope 
your Mediterranean friend rewarded you for the hour you 
have given him, and deprived us of.^"" 

‘‘ I wish,"" I could not but reply, ‘‘ that but one out of 


s 


ZENOBIA. 


6very thousand hours of my life had been as well rewarded, 
and it would not have been so worthless. The Princess 
may believe me when I say that^ not even the Bishop of 
Antioch could have done better justice to the Christian 
argument. I have heard this evening a Christian of the 
name of Probus, whose history I related — and which you 
may remember — at the tables, within a few days after my 
arrival in Palmyra. He is in opinion a follower of Paul, 
so I am informed, though not — ^you, J ulia, will be glad to 
learn it— in his manner of life. What the differences are 
which separate the Christians from one another in their 
belief, I know not. I only know that truth can not take 
a more winning shape than that in which it came from 
the lips of Probus, and it was largely supported by the 
words of the founder of the religion. I think you may 
justly congratulate your city and your subjects,^^ I contin- 
ued, addressing Zenobia, ‘^upon the labors and teaching 
of a man like Probus. The sentiments which he utters 
are such as must tend to the strength of any government 
which relies for its support, in any sense, upon the social 
and personal virtues of the people. In -implanting the virt- 
ues of justice, temperance, and piety, and in binding each 
heart to every other, by the bonds of a love which this re- 
ligion makes itself almost to consist in, it does all that 
either philosophy or religion can do for the harmony and 
order of society, the safety of governments, and the peace 
of the world. 

“ You speak with the earnestness of a deep persuasion, 
Eoman,"' replied the Queen, “and I shall not forget the 
name and office of the person whom you have now named 
to me. I hear with pleasure of the arrival of any teacher 
of truth in my kingdom. I have derived so much myself 
from the influences of letters and philosophy, that it is no 
far-off conclusion for me to arrive at, that my people must 
be proportionally beneflted by an easy access to the same 
life-giving fountains. Whatever helps to quicken thought, 
and create or confirm habits of reflection, is so much direct 
service to the cause of humanity. I truly believe that there 
is no obstacle but ignorance, to i3revent the world from at- 
taining a felicity and a virtue, such as we now hardly dream 
of — ignorance respecting the first principles of philosophy 
and religion. Knowledge is not less essential to the in- 
crease and elevation of virtue, than it is to the further ad- 


ZENOBIA. 


0 


vances of truth, and the detection of error. Prove the 
truth, and mankind will always prefer it to falsehood. So 
too, demonstrate wherein goodness consists, and the road 
that leads to it, and mankind will prefer it to vice. Vice is 
a mistake, as well as a fault; I do not say as often. I fear 
that the Christian teachers are occupying themselves and 
their disciples too much about mere speculative and fanci- 
ful distinctions, while they give too little heed to that which 
alone is of any consequence, virtue. In this, Longinus,^^ 
turning toward the philosopher, who had now joined us, 
“ I think they affect to imitate the commentators and liv- 
ing expositors of the great Plato. I have heard from Paul 
of Samosata accounts of differences among Christians, 
where the points were quite too subtle for my understand- 
ing to appreciate. They reminded me of the refinements 
of some of the young adventurers from Athens, who occa- 
sionally have resorted here for the purpose of elucidating 
the doctrines of your great master — pseudo-philosophers 
and tyros, I perceive you are waiting to term them. Is it 
so that you denominate Polemo the Athenian, who as I 
learn is now here with the benevolent design of enlighten- 
ing my people?" 

“He is a man,^^ replied Longinus, “ hardly worthy to 
be named in this connection and this presence at all. I 
have neither met him nor heard him, nor do I. desire to do 
so. It is through the mischievous intermeddling of such 
as he that the honorable name and office of philosojdier 
are brought into contempt. It requires more intellect than 
ever enlightens the soul of Polemo, to comprehend the 
lofty truth of Plato. I trust that when it has been my 
pleasure to unfold the sense of that great teacher, it has 
not been found to be either unprofitable, or unintelligible?’^ 

Zenobia smiled and said, “ I must confess that at times, 
as I have ever frankly stated, my mind has been a little 
tasked. There has been but an approach to a perfect idea. 
But I do not say that a perfect conception has not been 
presented. So that when this has happened, Longinus 
being the teacher, and Zenobia and Julia the pupils, I can 
not doubt that when the task is intrusted to less cultivated 
jninds— the task both of teaching and learning— it must 
frequently end in what ii might be rash to term light or 
knowledge. ” 

“ I grieve, 0 Queen,’’ replied Longinus, smiling in his 


10 ZENOBIA. 

turn, ‘‘ that both you and the Princess should have pos- 
sessed so little affinity for the soul-purifying and elevating 
doctrines of the immortal Plato — that you. Queen, should 
have even preferred the dark annals of Egyptian and As- 
syrian history and politics, and the Greek learning; and 
you. Princess, should have fixed your affections upon this, 
not new-found pliilosophy, but new-invented religion, of 
the Christians. I still anticipate the happiness to lead you 
both into the groves of the academy, and detain you there, 
where and where only are seats that well become you. 

“ But is it not,^^ I ventured here to suggest, “ some ob- 
jection to the philosophy of Plato as the guide of life, that 
it requires minds of the very highest order to receive it? 
Philosophy, methinks, should be sometliing of such po- 
tency, yet at the same time of such simplicity, that it 
should not so much require a lofty and elevated intellect 
to admit it, as tend, being received readily and easily by 
minds of a humbler order, to raise them up to itself. Now 
this, so far as I understand it, is the character of the Chris- 
tian philosophy — for philosophy I must think it deservedly 
called. It IS admitted into the mind with ease. But once 
being there, its operation is continually to exalt and refine 
it— leading it upward forever to some higher point than it 
has hitherto arrived at. I do not deny an elevating power 
to your philosophy when once an inmate of the soul— I 
only assert the difficulty of receiving it on the part of the 
common mind.^^ 

“ And the common mind has nothing to do, replied the 
Greek, with Plato or his wisdom. They are for minds of 
a higher order. Why should the man who makes my san- 
dals and my cloak be at the same time a philosopher? 
Would he be the happier? In my opinion, it would but 
increase his discontent. Every stitch that he set would be 
accompanied by the reflection, “ What a poor employment 
IS this for a soul like mine, imbued with the best wisdom 
of Greece,"^ and if this did not make him miserable at his 
task, it would make him contemptible when he should for- 
sake it to do the work of some Polemo— who, it may safely 
be presumed, has made some such exchange of occupation. 
No. Philosophy is not for the many, but the few. Parts 
there are of it which may descend and become a common 
inheritance. Other parts there are, and it is of these 1 
speak, which may not. ^ 


ZENOBIA. 


11 


“ Therein,^ ^ I rejoined, “I discern its inferiority to 
Christianity, which appeals to all and is suited to all, to 
lowest as well as highest, to highest as well as lowest/^ 

“ But I remember to have been told,^^ said the Greek 
in reply, ‘‘ that Christian teachers too have their mysteries 
— their doctrines for the common people, and their refine- 
ments for the initiated/^ 

“ I have heard not of it,-’^ I answered; “if it be so I 
should lament it. It would detract from its value greatly 
in my Judgment."’^ 

“ Where your information fails, Piso, mine perhaps may 
serve, said Julia, as I paused at fault. “It is indeed 
true, as has been hinted by Longinus, that some of the 
Christian doctors, through their weak and mistaken ambi- 
tion to assimilate their faith the nearest possible to the 
Greek philosophy, have magnified the points in which the 
least resemblance could be traced between them; and 
through the force of a lively imagination have discovered 
resemblances which exist only in their fancies. These 
they make their boast of, as showing that if Platonism be 
to be esteemed for its most striking peculiarities, the very 
same, or ones nearly corresponding, exist also in Christian- 
ity. Thus they hope to recommend their faith to the lov- 
ers of philosophy. Many have by these means been drawn 
over to it, and have not afterward altered any of their 
modes of life, and scarce any of their opinions; still wear- 
ing the philosopher's robe and teaching ther former doc- 
trines, slightly modified by a tincture of Christianity. How- 
ever the motive for such accommodation may be justified, 
it has already resulted and must do so more and more to 
the corruption and injury of Christianity. This religion, 
or philosophy, whichever it should be called, ought how- 
ever,^’ continued the Princess, addressing particularly the 
Greek, “ certainly to be judged on its own merits, and not 
by the conduct or opinions of injudicious, weak, or dishon- 
est advocates. You are not willing that Plato should be 
judged by the criticisms of a Polemo? but insist that the 
student should go to the pages of the philosopher himself, 
or else to some living expositor worthy of him. So the 
Christian may say of Christianity. I have been a reader of 
the Christian records, and I can say, that such secret and 
mysterious doctrines as you allude to, are not to be found 
there. Moreover, I can refer you, for the same opinion. 


12 


ZENOBIA. 


to Paul of Antiocli — I wish he were here — who, however 
he may dei^ai-t from the simjolicity of the Christian life, 
maintains the sinij)licity of its doctrine/ ^ 

‘‘You have well shown, my fair pupil, replied the 23hi- 
losopher, “ that the imputation uj^on Christianity, of a se- 
cret and interior doctrine for the initiated alone, is unjust, 
but therein have you deprived it of the very feature that 
would commend it to the studious and inquisitive. It may 
present itself as a useful moral guide to the common mind, 
but scarcely can it hope to obtain that enthusiastic homage 
of souls imbued with the love of letters, and of a refined 
speculation, which binds in such true-hearted devotion every 
follower of Plato to the doctrine of his divine master.’’^ 

At this moment Zabdas and Otho entered the apartment, 
and drawing near to our group to salute the Queen, our 
conversation was broken off. I took occasion, while this 
ceremony was going through, to turn aside and survey the 
various beauty and magnificence of the room, with its rare 
works of art. In this I was joined by Longinus, who, with 
a taste and a power which I have seen in no other, descant- 
ed upon the more remarkable of the pictures and statues, 
not in the manner of a lecturer, but with a fine perception 
and observance of that nice line which separates the learned 
philosopher from the polite man of the world. He was 
both at once. He never veiled his learning or his genius, 
and yet never, by the display of either, jarred the sensibil- 
ities of the most refined and cultivated taste. 

When we had in this way passed through the apartment, 
and were standing looking^ toward where Zenobia sat en- 
gaged in earnest conversation with Gracchus and Zabdas, 
Longinus said, 

“ Do you observe the restlessness of the Queen, and that 
flush upon her cheek? She is thinking of to-morrow and 
of the departure of the embassadors. And so too is it with 
every other here. We speak of other things, but the mind 
dwells but upon one. I trust the Queen will not lose this 
fair occasion to gather once more the opinions of those who 
most love and honor her. Piso, 5 ^ou have seen something 
of the attachment of this peojfle to their Queen. But you 
know not the one half of the truth. There is not a living 
man in Palmyra, save only Antiochus, who would not lay 
down his life for Zenobia. I except not myself. This at- 
tachment is founded in part upon great and admirable 


ZEKOBIA. 


13 


<]|^ualities. But it is to be fully explained only when I name 
the fascinations of a manner and a beauty such as poets have 
feigned in former ages, but which never have been realized 
till now. I acknowledge it — we are slaves yoked to her 
car, and ask no higher felicity or glory. 

“I wonder not,^^ said I; ‘‘though a Eoman, I have 
hardly myself escaped the common fate; you need not be 
surprised to see me drawn, by and bye, within the charmed 
circle, and binding upon my own neck the silken chains 
and the golden yoke. But see, the Queen asks our audi- 
ence. 

We accordingly moved toward the seat which Zenobia 
now occupied, surrounded by her friends, some being seat- 
ed and others standing without order around her. 

“ Good friends,^'’ she said, “ I believe one thought fills 
every mind present here. ' Is it not iDetter that we give it 
utterance? I need the sympathy and the counsel of those 
who love me. But I ask not only for the opinions of those 
who agree with me, but as sincerely for those of such as 
may differ from me. You know me well in this, that I 
refuse not to hearken to reasons, the strongest that can be 
devised, although they oppose my own settled judgment. 
Upon an occasion like this it would ill become the head of 
a great empire to shut out the slenderest ray of light that 
from any quarter might be directed upon the questions 
which so deeply interest and agitate us. I believe that the 
great heart of my people goes with me in the resolution I 
have taken, and am supported in by my council; but I am 
well aware, that minds not inferior to any in strength, and 
hearts that beat not less warmly toward their country and 
toward me than any others, are opposed to that resolution, 
and anticipate nought but disaster and ruin from a conflict 
with the masters of the world. Let us freely open our 
minds each to other, and let no one fear to offend me, but 
by withholding his full and free opinion. 

“ We who know our Queen so well,^^ said Gracchus, 
“ hardly need these assurances. Were I as bitterly opposed 
to the measures proposed as I am decidedly in favor of 
them, I should none the less fearlessly and frankly declare 
the reasons of my dissent. I am sure that every one here 
experiences the freedom you enjoin. But who will need 
to use it? For are we not of one mind? I see indeed one 
or two who oppose the general sentiment. But for the 


14 


ZENOBIA. 


-rest, one spirit animates all, and what is more, to the 
furthest limits of the kingdom am I persuaded the same 
spirit spreads, and possesses and fills every soul. The at- 
tempt of Aurelian to control us in our affairs, to dictate to 
us concerning the limits of our empire so far removed, is 
felt to be a wanton freak of despotic power, which, if it be 
not withstood in its first encroachment, may proceed to 
other acts less tolerable still, and which may leave us 
scarcely our name as a distinct people— and that covered 
with shame. Although a Eoman by descent, I advocate 
not Roman intolerance. I can see and denounce injustice 
in Aurelian as well as in another. Palmyra is my country 
and Zenobia my Queen, and ’when I seek not their honor, 
may my own fall- blasted and ruined. I stand ready to 
pledge for them in this emergency, what every other man 
of Palmyra holds it his privilege to offer, my property and 
my life, and if I have any possession dearer than these, I 
am ready to bring and lay it upon the same altar. 

The eyes of Zenobia filled at the generous enthusiasm of 
her faithful counselor— and, for Fausta, it was only a look 
and sign of the Queen that held her to her seat. 

Longinus then, as seemed to be his place, entered at 
length into the merits of the question. He did not hesi- 
tate to say that at the first outbreak of these difficulties he 
had been in favor of such concessions to the pride of Rome 
as would perhaps have appeased her and cast no indignity 
upon Palmyra. He did not scruple to add that he had 
deeply disapproved and honestly censured that rash act of 
^e young princes in assuming the garb and state of 
Caesars. He would rather leave to Rome her own titles 
and empire, and stand here upon a new and independent 
footing. It was a mad and useless affront, deeply wound- 
ing to the pride of Aurelian, and the more rankling as it 
was of the nature of a personal as well as national affront. 
He withheld not blame too from that towering ambition 
which, as he said, coveted the world because the gods had 
indeed imparted a genius capable to rule the world. He 
had exerted all his powers to moderate and restrain it by 
infusing a love of other than warlike pursuits. But,^^ 
said he, ‘‘ the gods weave the texture of our souls, not our- 
selves; and the web is too intensely wove and drenched in 
too deep a dye for us to undo or greatly change. The 
eagle can not be tamed down to the softness of a dove, and 


ZENOBIA. 


15 


! no art of the husbandman can send into the gnarled and 
knotted oak the juices that shall smooth and melt its still- 
ness into the yielding pliancy of the willow. I wage no 
war with the work of the gods. Besides, the demands of 
Rome have now grown to such a size that they swallow uj) 
our very existence as a free and sovereign state. They 
leave us but this single city and province out of an empire 
- that now stretches from the Nile to the Bosphorus — an 
empire obtained by what cost of blood and treasure I need 
' not say, any more than by what consummate skill in that 
art which boasts the loftiest minds of all ages.^^ He 'went 
on to say that Palmyra owed a duty not only to herself in 
this matter, but to the whole East, and even to the world. 
For what part of the civilized w^orld had not been trampled 
into dust by the despotism of almighty Rome? It was 
needful to the well-being of nations that some power should 
1 boldly stand forth and check an insolence that suffered no 
city nor kingdom to rest in peace. No single people ought 
to obtain universal empire. A pow^erful nation was the 
more observant of the eternal principles of honor and jus- 
tice for being watched by another, its equal. Individual 
character needs such supervision, and national as much. 
Palmyra was now an imposing object in the eye of the 
whole world. It was the second power. All he wished 
I was, that for the sake of the world ""s peace, it should retain 
this position. He deprecated conquest. However another 
might aspire to victory over Aurelian, to new additions 
from the Roman territory, he had no such aspirations. On 
the other hand, he should deplore any success beyond the 
maintenance of a just and honorable independence. This 
was our right, he said, by inheritance, and as much also by 
conquest, and for this he was ready, with the noble Grac- 
chus, to offer to his sovereign his properties, his powers, 
and his life. “If my poor life, he closed with saying, 

could prolong by a single year the reign of one who, 
with virtues so eminent and a genius so vast, fills the 
throne of this fair kingdom, I would lay it at her feet with 
joy, and think it a service well done for our own and the 
world ^s happiness. ^ ^ 

No sooner had Longinus ended, than Otho, a man of 
whom I have more than once spoken to you, begged to say 
a few words. 

“ My opinions are well known, he began with saying. 


16 


ZE^rOBIA. 


and it may be needless that I should again, and espe- 
cially here, declare them, seeing that they will jar so rudely 
with those entertained by you, my friends around me. But 
sure I am, that no one has advocated the cause and the 
sentiments which Zenobia cherishes so fondly, with a truer, 
deeper alfection for her, with a sincerer love of her glory, 
than I rise to oppose them with — ‘‘ We know it, we 
know it, Otho," interrupted the Queen. ‘‘ Thanks, noble 
Queen, for the fresh assurance of it. It is because I love, 
that I resist you. It is because I glory in your reign, in 
your renown, in your virtues, that I oppose an enterprise- 
that I see with a prophet^s vision will tarnish them all. 
Were I your enemy, I could not do better than to repeat 
the arguments that have just fallen from the lips of the 
head of our councils, set off with every trick of eloquence 
that would send them with a yet more resistless power into 
the minds not only of those who are assembled here, but of 
those, your subjects, wherever over these large dominions 
they are scattered. To press this war is to undermine the 
foundations of the fairest kingdom the sun shines upon, 
and unseat the most beloved ruler that ever swayed’ a scep- 
ter over the hearts of a devoted people. It can have no 
other issue. And this is not, 0 noble Queen, to throw 
discredit upon former achievements, or to express a doubt 
of powers which have received the homage of the world. 
It is only with open eyes to acknowledge what all but the 
blind must see and confess, the over\^elming superiority 
in power of every kind of the other party. With a feeble 
man upon the Homan throne, and I grant that upon the 
outskirts of her empire a brave and determined opposition 
might obtain great advantages, and conquer or reconquer 
provinces and cities, and bring disgrace upon Eoman gen- 
erals. But this must be a transitory glory — the mere 
shooting of an evening star — ending in deeper gloom. For 
what is Rome? Is it the commander of a legion, or the 
resident governor of a dependent kingdom, or even Caesar 
himself ? And have you dealt with Rome when you have 
dealt with Balista, or Heraclianus, or Probus? Alas! no. 
Rome still stands omnipotent and secure. The lion has 
been but chafed, and is still a lion, with more than his 
former fury; one hair has been drawn; his teeth, his limbs, 
his massy weight, his untouched energies, remain. Rome 
has been asleep for thirteen long years. Any empire but 


ZENOBIA. 


17 


Rome — which is immortal — would have slept the sleep of 
death under the dastardly, besotted Gallienus. But Rome 
has but slumbered, and has now awaked with renovated 
powers, under the auspices of a man whose name alone has 
carried terror and dismay to the furthest tribes of the Ger- 
man forests. Against Aurelian, with all the world at his 
back! and what can any resistance of ours avail? We may 
gain a single victory — to that, genius and courage are 
equal, and we possess them in more than even Roman 
measure — but that very victory may be our undoing, 
or it will but imbitter the temper of the enemy, call 
forth a new display of unexhausted and inexhaustible 
resources, while our very good success itself will have 
nearly annihilated our armies; and what can happen then 
but ruin, absolute and complete? Roman magnanimity 
may spare our city and our name. But it is more likely 
that Roman vengeance may blot them both out from the 
map of the world, and leave us naught but the fame of our 
Queen, and the crumbling ruins of this once flourishing 
citv, by which to be remembered by posterity. 

/ These are not the counsels of fear — of a tame and 
cowardly spirit. I may rebut that imputation without 
vanity, by referring to the siege of Ctesiphon and the re- 
duction of Egypt. The generous Zabdas will do me justice 
— nay, you all will — why am I apprehensive? Bear with 
me a moment more^^ — ‘‘Say on, say on, noble Otho,^^ 
said the Queen, and many other voices at the same time. 

“ The great Longinus has said,^^ continued he, that it 
is needful that there be one empire at least in the world to 
stand between Rome and universal dominion. I believe it. 
And that Palmyra may be, or continue to be, that king- 
dom, I counsel peace — I counsel delay — temporary conces- 
sion — negotiation, anything but war. A Roman emperor 
lives not forever; and let us once ward off the jealousy of • 
Aurelian, by yielding to some of his demands, and resign- 
ing pretensions which are nothing in reality, but exist as 
names and shadows only, and long years of peace and pros- 
perity may again arise, when our now infant kingdom may 
shoot up into the strong bone and muscle of a more vigor- 
ous manhood, and with reason assert rights, which now it 
seems but madness, essential madness, to do. Listen, 
great Queen! to the counsels of a time-worn soldier, whose 
whole soul is bound up in most true-hearted devotion to 


18 


ZEIs^OBIA. 


your greatness and glory. I quarrel not with your ambi- 
tion, or your love of warlike fame. I would only direct 
them to fields where they may pluck fresh laurels, and 
divert them from those where waits — pardon me, my royal 
mistress! — inevitable shame. 

Soon as Otho had given a single sign of pause, Zabdas, like 
a war-horse, sprung upon his feet. “ Were not the words, 
said he, ‘‘ which we have just heard, the words of Otho, I 
would cry out treason! treason! But Otho — is Otho. 
What nation would ever, 0 Queen, outgrow its infancy, 
were a policy like this, now descanted upon, to guide its 
counsels? The general who risks nothing can win noth- 
ing. And the nation that should wait till absolutely sure 
of victory before unsheathing the sword would never draw 
it, or only in some poor skirmish, where victory would be 
as disgraceful as defeat. Beside^, although such a nation 
were to rise by such victories, if victories those may be 
called won by a thousand over an hundred, who would not 
blush to own himself a citizen of it? Greatness lies not in 
pounds weight of flesh, but in skill, courage, warlike 
genius, energy, and an indomitable will. A great heart 
will scatter a multitude. The love of freedom, in a few brave 
spirits, overthrows kingdoms. It was not, if I rightly re- 
member, numbers by which the Persian hosts were beaten 
upon the plains of Greece. It was there something like 
three hundred to a million — the million weighed more than 
the three hundred, yet the three hundred were the heavier. 
The arm of one Spartan fell like a tempest upon the degen- 
erate Persians, crushing its thousands at a single sweep. 
It was a great heart and a trusting spirit that made it 
weigh so against mere human flesh. Are we to wait till 
Palmyra be as multitudinous as Rome, ere we risk a bat- 
tle? Perhaps Rome will grow as fast as Palmyra — and 
how long must we then wait? I care not, though Aurelian 
bring half Europe at his back, there sits a throned spirit 
—whether of earth or not, I can not tell, but as I think 
more than half divine— who will drive him back shattered 
and bleeding, the jest and ridicule of the observing world. 
She who, by the force- of pure intellect, has out of this 
speck in the desert made a large empire, who has humbled 
Persia, and entered her capital in triumph, has defeated 
three Roman armies, and wrested more provinces than time 
will allow me to number, from the firm grasp of the self- 


ZENOBIA. 


19 

Styled mistress of the world, this more than Semiramis is 
to be daunted, forsooth, because a Roman soldier of fortune 
sends his hirelings here and asks of her the surrender of 
three fourths of her kingdom— she is to kneel and cry him 
mercy— and humbly lay at his royal feet the laurels won by 
so inuch precious blood and treasure. May the sands of 
the desert bury Palmyra and her Queen, sooner than one 
hum dilating word shall pass those lips, or one act of con- 
cession blast a fame to this hour spotless as the snows of 
Ararat, and bright as the Persian God. Shame upon the 
man who, after the lessons of the past, wants faith in his 
sovereign. Great Queen, believe me, the nation is with 
you. Palmyra, as one man, will pour out treasure to the 
last and lea^t dust of gold, and blood to the last drop, that 
you may still sit secure upon that throne, and stretch your 
scepter over a yet wider and undishonored empire. 

Let not the Queen,^^ resumed Otho, as Zabdas ceased, 
let not the Queen doubt my faith — 

doubt it not, good Otho,^^ she replied; ‘‘heed not 
the sharp woixis of the impetuous Zabdas; in his zeal for 
the art he only loves and for his Queen, he has thrust his 
lance hither and thither at all adventures, but as in the 
sports of the field he means no injury. 

Zabdas intends no wrong, I am well assured,^^ re- 
joined Otho. “ I would only add a word, to show upon 
what I ground my doubt of good success, should Aurelian 
muster all his strength. It can not be thought that I have 
lost my faith in the military genius and prowess of 
either Zenobia or Zabdas, with both of whom, side by side, 

I have fought so many times, and by their conduct mount- 
ed up to victory. Neither do I doubt the courage of our 
native Palmyrenes, nor their devotion to the interests of 
their country. They will war to the death. But should a 
second army be to be raised, should the chosen troops of 
the city and its neighboring territories be once cut off, upon 
whom are we then to rely? Where are the auxiliaries 
whom we can trust? What reliance can be placed upon 
Arabs, the Armenians, the Saracens, the Cappadocians, the 
Syrians? Is our empire so old, and so well molded into 
one mass, so single m interest and affection, that these 
scattered tribes — ^formerly hostile to each other and to us, 
many, most of them at different times subject to Rome — 
may be depended upon as our own people? Have we 


20 


ZEXOBTA. 


legions already drawn from their numbers, disciplined, and 
accustomed to our modes of warfare? Truly, this war with 
Eome seems to be approached much as if it were but some 
passing show of arms, some holiday pastime. But the 
gods grant that none of my forebodings turn true!^^ 

The words of the sober-minded and honest Otho found 
no echo in the bosoms of those who heard him, and he 
ceased, when I believe he would willingly have gone on to 
a closer and sharper ojDposition. Others followed hini, 
each one present eagerly pressing forward to utter, were it 
but one word, to show his loyalty, and his zeal in the serv- 
ice of his Queen. 

When all, or nearly all, had in this manner manifested 
their attachment and declared their opinions, the Queen 
turned to me, saying, that as I had there heard so much of 
what I could not approve, and perhaps had power to dis- 
prove, it was right that if I wished I should also express 
my opinions; nay, it would be esteemed as a favor by her- 
self, and she was sure also by all her friends, if I would 
freely impart any knowledge I might possess, by which any 
error might be corrected, or false impressions dissipated. 

Being thus invited, I not unwillingly entered into the 
questions that had been agitated, and with earnestness and 
sincerity, and with all the power I could bring to bear, 
labored to expose the imminent hazard to the veiy existence 
of the kingdom, which was run by this rash encounter with 
the countless hosts of Borne. I revealed a true picture of 
the resources of our country, and sketched, as I could so 
well do in their proper colors, the character of the fierce 
Aurelian; and, in a word, did all that a Eoman could do 
for Rome, and a Palmyrene for Palmyra. I remembered 
what Otho had told me of the courtesy and willingness with 
which any company of genuine Palmyrenes would listen to 
me, and shrunk not from any statement, however harsh and 
grating to their national vanity, but which seemed to me to 
convey wholesome truth. It appeared to me indeed too 
late to work any change in minds so pledged already to 
an adopted opinion, but I resolved to leave nothing untried 
to turn them from a bent that must end in irretrievable 
ruin. I was encouraged too, and urged on to more than a 
common effort, by the imploring countenance of the Prin- 
cess Julia, who, in that expressive manner, begged me to 
use all frankness and boldness in my communications. 


ZEKOBIA. 


21 

Otho liad, it is true, with great power and unshrinking 
fidelity, advocated the cause of peace, and laid bare the 
true motives of the war, but still it appeared to me that 
much might be said by a Roman and a stranger, that would 
carry with it more weight than as coming from a citizen, 
however loved and respected. To you, my friend, I need 
enter into no detail; you will easily imagine what it was, as 
a Roman, I should urge upon such an occasion, and in 
I such a presence. I shall always remember with satisfaction, 
j I am sure, whatever the issue of this difference may be, my 
efforts to preserve peace between two nations, whose best 
interests must be advanced not by enmity and war, but by 
the closest alliance of friendly intercourse. 

I was heard with attention and respect, and afterward 
with sincerity thanked, not only by the opposers of the 
present measures, but by their advocates also; they were 
glad to know the worst that could be said against the cause 
they had espoused. A brief silence ensued as I ended, and 
the eyes of all were instinctively turned upon Zenobia, the 
ruling spirit — the maker of the kingdom — its soul — its head 
— and bright, peerless crown. 

It was mv wish,^^ said Zenobia, answering the general 
expectation, “before the final decision of the. senate and 
the council, to receive from my friends, in social confi- 
dence, a full expression of their feelings, their opinions, 
their hopes, their fears, concerning the present posture of 
i our affairs. My wish has been gratified, and I truly thank 
; you all, and not least those my friends — as a philosopher, 

; should I not term them my best friends? — who, with a 
j generous trust in me and in you who are on my part, have 
I not shrunk from the duty, always a hard one, of exj^osing 
the errors and the faults of those they love. After such 
ex2:>osure — and which at more length and with more 
specification will I trust be repeated in the hearing of the 
senate and the council — it can not be said that I blindly 
rushed upon danger and ruin, if these await us, or weakly 
blundered upon a wider renown, if that, as I doubt not, is 
to be the event of the impending contest. I would neither 
gain nor lose, but as the effect of a wise calculation and a 
careful choice of means. Withhold not now your confi- 
dence, which before you have never refused me. Believe 
that now, as ever before, I discern with a clear eye the 
path which is to conduct us to a yet higher pitch of glory. 


22 


ZEKOBIA. 


1 have long anticipated the emergency that has arisen. I 
was not so ignorant of the history and character of the 
Eoman people, as to suppose that they would suffer an 
empire like this, founded and governed by a woman, to 
divide long with them the homage of the world. With 
the death of the ignoble son of Valerian, I believed would 
close our undisputed reign over most of these eastern 
provinces. Had Claudius lived, good as he was, he was 
too Roman in his mold not to have done what Aurelian 
now attempts. I prepared then for the crisis which has 
come not till now. I am ready now. My armies are in com- 
plete discipline; the city itself so fortified with every art 
and muniment of war as safely to defy any power that any 
nation may array before its walls. But were this not so; 
did the embassy of Am-elian take us by surprise and un- 
prepared; should a people that respects itself, and would 
win .or keep the good opinion of mankind, tamely submit 
to requisitions like these? Are we to dismember our coun- 
try at the behest of a stranger, of a foreigner, and a 
Roman? Do you feel that without a struggle first for 
freedom and independence, you could sink down into a 
mean tributary of all-indulging Rome, and lose the name 
of Palmyrene? I see by the most expressive of all lan- 
guage, that you would rather die. Happy are you, my 
friends, that this is not your case; you are ready for the 
enemy; you shall not lose your name or your renown; and 
you shall not die. I and my brave soldiers will at a dis- 
tance breast the coming storm; your ears shall not so much 
as hear its thunder; and at the worst, by the sacrifice of 
our lives, your and your country's life shall be preserved. 

“ I am advised to avert this evil by negotiation, by delay. 
Does any one believe that delay on our part will change 
the time-engendered character of Rome? If I cease to 
oppose, will Rome cease to be ambitious? Will fair words 
turn aside the fierce spirit of Aurelian from his settled 
purpose? Will he — so truly painted by the Roman Piso — 
who looks to build an undying name, by bringing back the 
empire to the bounds that compassed it under the great 
Antonines, let slip the glory for a few cities now in hand, 
and others promised? or for the puimle robe humbly pulled 
from our young Caesars’ shoulders? Believe it not. The 
storm that threatens might be so warded off perhaps for a 
day — a month — a year — a reign — but after that it would 


ZENOBIA. 


S3 

come, and, in all reasonable calculation, with tenfold fury. 

rather meet the danger ^t its first menace, and 
thereby keep our good name — ^which otherwise should we 
not sully or lose? — and find it less too than a few years 
more would make it. 

‘'lam charged with pride and ambition. The charge is 
true, and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved any- 
thing great in letters, arts, or arms, who was not am- 
bitious? Caesar was not more ambitious than Cicero. It 
was but in another way. All greatness is born of ambition. 
Let ambition be a noble one, and who shall blame it? I 
confess I did once aspire to be Queen not only of Palmyra, 
but of the East. That I am. I now aspire to remain so. 
Is it not an honorable ambition? Does it not become a 
descendant of the Ptolemys and of Cleopatra? I am aj^- 
plauded by you all for what I have already done. You 
would not it should have been less. But why pause here? 
Is so much ambition praiseworthy, and more criminal? Is 
it fixed in nature that the limits of this empire should be 
Egypt on the one hand, the Hellespont and the Euxine on 
the other? Were not Suez and Armenia more natural 
limits? ^ Or hath empire no natural limit, but is broad as 
the genius that can devise, and the power that can win? 
Borne has the West. Let Palmyra possess the East. Not 
that nature prescribes this and no more. The gods pros- 
pering, and I swear not that the Mediterranean shall hem 
me in upon the West, or Persia on the East. Longinus is 
right-— I would that the world were mine. I feel within 
the will and the power to bless it, were it so. 

“ Are not my people happy? I look upon the past and 
the present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects, and ask 
nor fear the answer — whom have I wronged? what 
province have I oppressed? what city pillaged? what region 
drained with taxes? whose life have I unjustly taken, or 
estates coveted or robbed? whose honor have I wantonly 
assailed? whose rights, though of the weakest and poorest, 
have I trenched upon? I dwell where I would ever dwell, 
in the hearts of my people. It is writ in your faces, that 
I reign not more over you than within you. The founda- 
tion of my throne is not more power than love. Suppose 
now, my ambition add another province to our realm? Is 
it an evil? The kingdom already bound to us by the joint 
acts of ourself and the late royal Odenatus, we found dis- 


24 


ZEKOBIA. 


cordant and at war. They are now united and at peace. 
One harmonious whole has grown out of hostile and sun- 
dered parts. At my hands they receive a common justice 
and equal benefits. The channels of their comrner^ have 
I opened, and dug them, deep and sure. Prosperity and 
j)lenty are in all their borders. The streets of our cap- 
ital bear testimony to the distant and various industry 
which here seeks its market. This is no vain boasting — 
receive it not so, good friends: it is but truth. He, who 
traduces himself, sins with him who traduces another. 
He who is unjust to himself, or less than just, breaks a law 
as well as he hurts his neighbor. I tell you what I want 
and what I have done, that your trust for the future may 
not rest upon ignorant grounds. If I am more than just 
to myself, rebuke me. If I have overstepped the modesty 
that became me, I am open to your censure, and will bear 
it. But I have spoken, that you may know your Queen — 
not only by her acts, but by her admitted principles. I 
tell you then that I am ambitious — that I crave dominion, 
and while I live will reign. Sprung from a line of kings, 
a throne is my natural seat. I love it. But I strive too 
— you can bear me witness that I do — that it shall be, 
while I sit upon it, an honored, unpolluted seat. If I can, 
I will hang a yet brighter glory round it. 

‘‘ And as to pride — what if my woman's nature, that 
nature the gods implanted and I have received from royal 
ancestors, loves the pomp and show of power? What if 
the pride which dwells in all high natures gratifies itself in 
me by planting its feet upon an Indian princess, as its only 
fitting footstool, who — " Suddenly at this point of her dis- 
course the Queen broke off, and advancing from where she 
stood — she had risen from her seat in the ardor of her ad- 
dress — greeted with native courtesy and grace the Roman 
embass^ors, who, in company with others of their train, 
we now saw to enter the apartments. 

The company, upon this, again resolved itself into many 
separate groups, and returned to such private topics as 
each one liked, Zenobia devoting herself to Varro and 
Petronius. 

By and by, at the striking up of music, we moved to an- 
other apartment, the banquetmg-hall — ^the same Egyptian 
room in which I had before partaken the hospitalities of 
the Eastern Queen, where tables, set out with the most 


ZENOBIA. 


25 


lavish magnificence, and bending beneath the most tempt- 
ing burdens, awaited our approach. A flood of light was 
poured from the ceiling, and reflected back again from the 
jeweled wine-cups and embossed gold of Demetrius. 

But I can not pretend to describe this sumptuous feast. 
I will only say, that the Queen, seated between the Roman 
embassadors, gave the evening to them. And what with 
the frequent cups in which she pledged them, and the 
fascinating charms of her beauty and her conversation, I 
fear there was but little of the Roman in them when they 
rose to depart. In this more peaceful way has Zenobia 
won provinces and cities, as well as at the heads of her 
armies. Rarewell. 


LETTER XL 

Erom my late letters to Portia, and which without doubt 
you have before this read, you have learned with certainty, 
what I am sure the eye of Lucilia must before have clearly 
discerned, my love of the Princess Julia. I have there 
related all that it can import my friends to know. The 
greatest event of my life — the issues of which, whether 
they are to crown me with a felicity the gods might envy, 
or plunge me in afflictions divine compassions could not 
assuage — I have there described with that careful concern 
for your fullest information, touching all that befalls me, 
by which you will bear me testimony I have been actuated 
during my residence in this Eastern capital. 

You will not be surprised to learn that my passion is 
opposed by the Queen. It was in the same apartment of 
the palace where I first saw this wonderful woman, that 
at a. late interview with her, at her command, I was en- 
joined to think no more of an alliance with her house. 

I was, as you may easily imagine, not a little disturbed in 
anticipation of an interview with such a person, on such an 
occasion. Eausta assured me that I might rely upon the 
Queen ^s generosity, and could look to receive only the most 
courteous reception, whatever her decision might be on my 
suit. ‘‘I fear greatly for your success, said she, ^‘but 
pray the gods both for your and the Princess" sake my fears 
may not come true. Julia lives in her affections — she can 
not like me become part of the world abroad, and doubly 


26 


ZENOBIA. 


live in its various action. She loves Zenobia indeed with 
the truest affection, hut she has given her heart to you, 
Lucius, and disappointment here would feed upon her very 
life. She ought not to be denied. She can not bear it. 
Yet Zenobia, devoured by ambition, and holding so little 
sympathy with human hearts in their mutual loves — all the 
world to them — may deny her, nor ever half conceive the 
misery she will inflict upon a being she loves and even re- 
veres. Press your cause, Lucius, with a manly boldness. 
The gods succeed you. 

The Queen received me graciously, but with a fixed and 
almost severe countenance. She expressed herself obliged 
to me for the early knowledge of what otherwise she had 
not so much as suspected. ‘‘ Living myself, said she, 
‘‘ far above any dependence upon love for my happiness, 
I am not prone to see the affection in others. The love 
’vVhich fastens upon objects because they are worthy, I can 
understand and honor. But the mad and blind passion, 
which loves only because it will love, which can render no 
reason for its existence but a hot and capricious fancy, I 
have had no experience of in my own heart, and where I 
see it I have no feeling for it but one of disapprobation or 
contempt. If it be but the beauty of Julia which has be- 
witched thy fancy, Eoman, amuse thyself with a brief tour 
of pleasure, either to Antioch or Alexandria, and other ob- 
jects will greet thee, and soon drive her from thy thoughts. ^ ^ 

I assured her that my regard was not of this kind; that 
indeed her transcendent beauty had first won me, but that 
other qualities retained me; that the bond which held me 
was as much friendship as love, and I might say as much 
reverence as friendship. 

The greater the pity, Roman,^" rejoined the Queen in 
a voice somewhat stern, but yet melancholy, ‘‘ the greater 
the pity. In truth, I had hoped thine was but the love of 
the painted image, and might without pain be transferred 
to another, painted but as well. Yet, had I reflected upon 
the sentiments I have heard from thee, I might have judged 
thee nobler. But, Piso, this must not be. Were I to 
look only to myself and Julia, I might well be pleased with 
a tie that bound us to one whom I have so weighty reasons 
to respect and honor. But to do this I have no right. I 
am not my own, but the State’s. Julia is no daughter of 
mine, but the property of Palmyra. Marriage is one of 


ZEI^OBIA. 


27 


the chief bonds of nations, as of families. Were it not a 
crime 'in me, with selfish regard to my own or my daugh- 
ter's pleasure, to bestow her upon a private citizen of what- 
ever worth, when, espousing her to some foreign j^rince, a 
province or a kingdom may be won or saved? 

“ But,’^ I ventured to remark, “ are the hearts of 
princes and princesses to be bartered away for power or 
territory? are the affections to be bought and sold? Is the 
question of happiness to be no question in their case?^^ 

“ By no means the principal one. It is not necessarily a 
sacrifice, but if necessary the sacrifice must be made. The 
world envies the lot of those who sit upon thrones. But 
the seat is not without its thorns. It seems all summer 
with them. But upon whom burst more storms, or charged 
with redder fury? They seem to the unreflecting mind to 
be the only independent — while they are slaves of all. The 
prosperous citizen may link himself and his children when 
and with whom he likes, and none may gainsay him. He 
has but to look to himself and his merest whim. The 
royal family must go and ask his leave. My children are 
more his than mine. And if it be his pleasure and prefer- 
ence that my daughters ally themselves to an Indian or a 
Roman prince, his Avill is done, not mine — his is the gam, 
mine the loss. And were it just that, when by joining 
hands though not hearts two nations could be knit together 
in amity, the royal house should refuse the sacrifice? 
Roman, I live for Palmyra. I have asked of the gods my 
children, not for my own pleasure, but for Palmyra^s sake. 
I should give the he to my whole life, to every sentiment I 
have harbored since that day I gave myself to the royal 
Odenatus, were I now to bestow upon a private citizen her, 
through whom we have so long looked to ally ourselves by 
a new and stronger bond to some neighboring kingdom. 
Julia, Roman — ^you have seen her, you know her, you can 
aj^preciate her more than human qualities — Julia is the 
destined bride of Hormisdas. By her, on Sapor '’s death, 
we hope to bind together by chains never to be afterward 
sundered, Persia and Palmyra, who, then leagued by in- 
terest and affection, may as one kingdom stand up with the 
more hope against the overwhelming force of Rome. Were 
I justified to forego this advantage for any private reason? 
Can you doubt, were I not constrained to act otherwise, 
whether I should prefer some nobleman of Palmyra, or 


28 


ZEKOBIA. 


tliee, that so I might ever dwell within the charmed influ- 
ence of one, from whom to part ^vill be like the pang of 
death 

‘‘But the princess — I again urged. 

“ That is scarcely a question/-’ she rejoined. “ She 
may be a sacrifice; but it will be upon her country's altar. 
How many of our brave soldiers, how many of our great 
officers, with devoted patriotism throw away their lives for 
their country. You will not say that this is done for the 
paltry recompense, which at best scarce shields the body 
from the icy winds of winter, or the scorching rays of sum- 
mer. And shall not a daughter of the royal house stand 
ready to encounter the hardships of a throne, the dangers 
of a Persian court, and the terrors of a royal husband, 
especially when by doing so, fierce and bloody wars may be 
stayed, and nations brought into closer unity? I know but 
little of Hormisdas; report speaks well of him. But were 
it much less that I know, and were report yet less favora- 
ble, it were not enough to turn me from my purpose. Pal- 
myra married to Persia, through J ulia married to Hor- 
misdas, is that upon which I and my people dwell. 

“ Better a thousand times, I then said, “to be born 
to the lot of the humblest peasant — a slavey’s is no worse. 

“ Upon love’s calendar,” said the Queen, “so it is. 
But have I not freely admitted, Roman, the dependency, 
nay, slavery, of a royal house? It would grieve my moth- 
er’s heart, I need scarce assure thee, were Julia unhappy. 
But grief to me might bring joy to two kingdoms.” 

I then could not but urge the claims of my own family, 
and that by a more powerful and honored one she could 
not ally herself to Rome; and might not national interest 
be as well promoted by such a bond, as by one with the 
remoter East? I was the friend too of Aurelian, much in 
his confidence and regal’d. 

Zenobia paused, and was for a few moments buried in 
thought. A faint smile for the first time played over her 
features as she said in reply, “ I wish for your sake and 
Julia’s it could be so. But it is too late. Rome is resolved 
upon the ruin of Palmyra — she can not be turned aside. 
Aurelian for worlds would not lose the glory of subduing 
the East. The greater need of haste in seeking a union 
with Persia. Were Sapor dead to-day, to-morrow an em- 
bassy should start for Ecbatana. But think not, Piso, I 


ZENOBIA. 


29 


harbor ill will toward you, or hold your offer in contempt. 
A Queen of the East might not disdain to join herself to a 
family, whose ancestors were like yours. That Piso who 
was once the rival, and in power — not indeed in virtue — ^ 
the equal of the great Germanicus, and looked, not with- 
out show of reason, to the seat of Tiberius; and he who 
so many years and with such honor reigned over the city 
its unequaled governor; and thou the descendant and com- 
panion of princes — an alliance with such might well be an 
object of ambition with even crowned heads. And it may 
well be, seeing the steps by which many an emperor of 
Pome has climbed upon his precarious seat, that the com- 
ing years may behold thee in the place which Aurelian 
fills, and, were I to pleasure thee in thy request, Julia em- 
press of the world! The vision dazzles! But it can not 
be. It would be sad recreancy to my most sacred duty were 
I, falling in love with a dream, to forsake a great reality. 

“ I may not then — I began. 

No, Piso, you may not even hope. I have reasoned 
with you because I honor you. But think not that I hesi- 
tate or waver. Julia can never be yours. She is the 
daughter of the state, and to a state must be espoused. 
Seek not therefore any more to deepen the place which 
you hold in her affections. Canst thou not be a friend, 
and leave the lover out? Friendship is a sentiment worthy 
godlike natures, and is the true sweetener of the cup of 
life. Love is at best but a bitter-sweet; and when sweetest, 
it is the friendship mingled with it that makes it so. Love, 
too, wastes away with years. Friendship is eternal. It 
rests upon qualities that are a part of the soul. The witch- 
ery of the outward image helps not to make it, nor, being 
lost as it is with age, can dissol\^e it. Friendship agrees too 
with ambition, while love is its most dreaded rival. Need 
I point to Antony? If, Piso, thou wouldst live the worthy 
heir of thy great name; if thou wouldst build for thyself 
a throne in the esteem of mankind, admit friendship, but 
bar out love! And I trust to hear that thou art great in 
Pome, greater even than thine ancestor Galba^s adopted 
son. Aim at even the highest, and the arrow, if it reach 
it not, will hit the nearer. When thou art Caesar, send 
me an embassy. Then, perhaps — ^ 

She closed with that radiant smile that subdues all to her 
will, her manner at the same time giving me to under- 


30 


ZENOBIA. 


stand that the conversation was ended, her own sentence 
being left playfully unfinished. 

I urged not many things which you may well suppose it 
came into my mind to do, for I neither wished, nor did I 
feel as if I had a right, at an hour of so much public in- 
quietude, to say aught to add to the burden already weigh- 
ing upon her. Besides, it occurred to me, that when 
within so short a time great public changes may take place, 
and the relations of parties be so essentially altered, it was 
not worth while to give utterance to sentiments, which the 
lapse of a brief period might show to have been unnecessary 
and unwise. I may also add that the presence of this great 
woman is so imposing; she seems in the very nature and 
form the gods have given her, to move so far above the 
rest of her kind, that I found it impossible both to say 
much of what I had intended to say, and to express what 
I did say with the ease and propriety which are common 
to me on ordinary or other extraordinary occasions. They 
are few, I believe, who possess themselves fully in her 
presence. Even Longinus confesses a constraint. 

‘‘ It is even as I ai^prehended, said Fausta, as I com- 
municated to her the result of my interview with the 
Queen. ‘‘ I know her heart to have been set upon a foreign 
alliance by marriage with Julia, and that she has been 
looking forward with impatience to the time when her 
daughters should be of an age to add in this way new 
strength to the kingdom. I rather hoped than had faith, 
that she would listen to your proposals. I thought that 
perhaps the earnestness of the princes, with the Queen^s 
strong affection for her, together with the weight of your 
family and name, might prevail. But then I have asked 
myself, if it were reasonable to indulge such a hope. The 
Queen is right in stating as she did her dependence, in 
some sort, upon the people. It is they, as well as she, who 
are looking forward to this Persian marriage. I know not 
what discontents would break out were Hormisdas post- 
poned to Piso— Persia to Pome. My position, Lucius, I 
think a sadder one than Zenobia^s. 1 love Julia as dearly 
as Zenobia, and you a great deal more than Zenobia does, 
and would fain see you happy; and yet I love Palmyi’a I 
dare not say how much — nor that, if by such an act good 
might come to my countiy, I could almost wish that Julia 
should live in Persia.^' 


ZEKOBIA. 


31 


^ better ground of hope than is gues 
either by the Queen or Fausta, but yet can name it not 
mention this to you, and pass to other things. 


This city has to-day been greatly moved, owing to the 
expected audience of our embassadors before the council, 
and their final answer. The streets are thronged with mul- 
titudes not engaged in the active affairs of traffic, but 
standing m larger or smaller crowds talking, and hearing 
or telling news, as it anives from the palace or from 
abroad. 


The die is cast. The embassadors are dismissed. The 
decision of the council has been confirmed by the senate, 
and Varro and Petronius have with their train departed 
from the city. War therefore is begun. For it was the 
ffistmct language of the embassy, that no other terms need 
be proposed, nor would be accepted beside those offered by 
them. None others have been offered on the part of Pal- 
myra. And the embassadors have been delayed rather to 
avoid the charge of unreasonable precipitancy, than in the 
belief that the public mind would incline to or permit any 
' reply more moderate than that which they have borne back 
to the emperor. 

It is understood that Aurelian, with an army perfectly 
equipped, stands waiting, ready to start for Asia on the 
arrival of the embassadors or their couriers. From vour 
last letters I gather as much. How, again I ask— as I 
have often asked both myself and the principal persons 
here — how is it possible there should be but one issue to 
this contest? Yet from language which I heard in the 
senate, as well as in the private apartments of the Queen, 
there is a mad confidence, that after a battle or two on the 
outskirts of the kingdom, in which they shall conquer as 
always heretofore, an advantageous peace will end the 
contest. In the senate, scarce a voice was raised for con- 
cession; its mere mention was enough to bring down the ' 
most bitter charges of a want of patriotism, a Roman lean- 
ing, a sordid regard to the interests of commerce over those 
of honor, a poor and low-minded spirit. Such as had 
courage to lift up a warning voice were soon silenced by 
the universal clamor of the opposite party; and although 
the war was opposed by some of the ablest men in the 


32 


ZENOBIA. 


kingdom, men inferior to none of those who have come 
more especially within my notice, and whom I have named 
to you, yet it is termed a unanimous decision, and so will 
be reported at Rome. 

The simple truth is however that, with the exception of 
these very few, there is no independent judgment in Pal* 
myra, on great national questions. The Queen is all in all. 
She is queen, council and senate. Here are the forms of 
a republican deliberation, with the reality of a despotic 
will. Not that Zenobia is a despotic princess, in any bad 
sense of the term, but being of so exalted a character, rul- 
ing with such equity and wisdom; moreover having created 
the kingdom by her own unrivaled energies and genius, it 
has become the habit of the people to defer to her in all 
things; their confidence and love are so deep and fervent, 
that they have no will nor power now, I believe, to oppose 
her in any measure she might propose. The city and 
country of Palmyra proper are her property in as real a 
sense as my five hundred slaves, on my Tiburtine farm, are 
mine. Nor is it very much otherwise with many of the 
nearer allied provinces. The same enthusiasm pervades 
them. Her watchfulness over their interests, her imparti- 
ality, her personal oversight of them by means of the fre- 
quent passages she makes among them, have all contrib- 
uted to knit them to her by the closest ties. With the 
more remote portions of the empire it is very different, and 
it would require the operation of but slight causes to divide 
from their allegiance Egypt, Armenia, and the provinces of 
Asia Minor. 

How is not this rashness, this folly, to be deplored! Could 
the early counsels of Longinus have been but heeded, all 
had been well. But he is now as much devoted to the will 
and interests of Zenobia as any in the kingdom, and lends 
all the energies of his great mind to the promotion of her 
cause. He said truly, that he like others is but a slave 
yoked to her car. His opinion now is, that no concessions 
would avail to preserve the independent existence of Pal- 
myra. The question lies between war and a voluntary de- 
scent to the condition of a Roman promince. Nothing less 
than that will satisfy the ambition and the pride of Rome. 
The first step may be such as that proposed by Varro — the 
lopping off of the late conquered provinces, leaving Zenobia 
the city, the circumjacent territory, and Syria. But a sec- 


2EN0BTA. 


■ ond step would soon follow the first, and the foot of Aure- 
lian would plant itself upon the neck of Zenobia herself. 

, This he felt assured of, both from observation upon the 
Roman character and histoiy, upon the personal character 
of Aurelian, and from private advices from Rome. He is 
now accordingly the moving spirit of the enterprise, going 
' with all his heart and mind into every measure of the 
Queen. 

I am just returned from a singular adventure. My hand 
I trembles as I write. I had laid down my pen and gone 
forth upon my Arab, accompanied by Milo, to refresh and 
invigorate my frame after our late carousaJ — shall I term 
it? — at the palace. I took my way, as I often do, to the 
I Long Portico, that I might again look upon its faultless 
beauty and watch the changing crowds. Turning from 
' that, I then amused my vacant mind by posting myself 
where I could overlook, as if I were indeed the builder or 
j superintendent, the laborers upon the column of. Aurelian. 

' I became at length particularly interested in the efforts of 
, a huge elephant, who was employed in dragging up to the 
foundations of the column, so that they might be fastened 
: to machines to be then hoisted to their place, enormous 
blocks of marble. He was a noble animal, and, as it 
seemed to me, of far more than common size and strength. 
Yet did not his utmost endeavors appear to satisfy the de- 
mands of those who drove him, and who plied without 
mercy the barbed scourges which they bore. His temper 
at length gave way. He was chained to a mass of rock, 
which it was evidently beyond his power to move. It re- 
quired the united strength of two at least. But this was 
' nothing to his inhuman masters. They ceased not to urge 
j him with cries and blows. One of them at length, trans- 
ported by that insane fury which seizes the vulgar when 
their will is not done by the brute creation, laid hold upon 
a long lance, terminated with a sharp iron goad, long as 
my sword, and rushing upon the beast, drove it into his 
hinder part. At that very moment the chariot of the 
Queen, containing Zenobia herself, Julia, and the other 
princesses, came suddenly against the column, on its way 
to the palace. I made every possible sign to the charioteer 
to turn and fly. But it was too late. The infuriated mon- 
ster snapped the chains that held him to the stone, at a 

S-gd half. 


34 


ZENOBIA, 


single bound, as the iron entered him, and trampling to 
death one of his drivers, dashed forward to wreak his venge- 
ance upon the first object that should come in his way. 
That, to the universal terror and distraction of the now 
scattered and flying crowds, was the chariot of the Queen. 
Her mounted guards, at the first onset of the niaddened 
animal, putting their horses to their speed, by quick leaps 
escaped. The horses attached to the chariot, springing 
forward to do the same, urged by the lash of the charioteer, 
were met by the elephant with straightened trunk and tail, 
who, in the twinkling of an eye, wreathed his proboscis 
round the neck of the first he encountered, and wrenching 
him from his harness, whirled him aloft and dashed him to 
the ground. This I saw was the moment to save the life 
of the Queen, if it was indeed to be saved. Snatching 
from a flying soldier his long spear, and knowing well the 
temper of my horse, I ran upon the monster as he disen- 
gaged his trunk from the crushed and dying Arabian for a 
new assault, and drove it with unerring aim into his eye, * 
and through that opening on into the brain. He fell as if 
a bolt from heaven had struck him. The terrified and 
struggling^ horses of the chariot were secured by the now 
returning crowds, and the Queen and the princesses re- 
lieved from the peril which was so imminent, and had 
blanched with terror every cheek but Zenobia^s. She had 
stood the while, I was told — there being no exertion which 
she could make — watching with eager and intense gaze my 
movements, upon which she felt that their safety, perhaps 
their fives, depended. 

It all passed in a moment. Soon as I drew out my spear , 
from the dying animal, the air was rent with the shouts of ^ 
the surrounding populace. Surely, at that moment I was ^ 
the greatest, at least the most fortunate, man in Palmyra. -I 
These approving shouts, but still more the few words ut- i 
tered by Zenobia and Julia, were more than recompense .] 
enough for the small service I had performed; especially, I 
however, the invitation of the Queen : 

“ But come, noble Piso, leave not the work half done; 
we need now a protector for the remainder of the way. 
Ascend, if you will do us such pleasure, and join us to the - 
palace.^'’ ! 

I need no repeated urging, but taking the offered seat — 
whereupon new acclamations went up from the now aug* 


ZEKOBIA. 


35 


driven, as I conceived, in a sort of 
triumpli to the palace, where passing an hour, which it 
seems to me held more than all the rest of my life, I have 
now returned to my apartment, and relate what has hap- 
pened for your entertainment. You will not wonder that fm- 
many reasons my hand trembles, and my letters are not 
formed wuth their accustomed exactness. 


Again I am interrupted. What can be the 
the noise and running to and fro which I hear? 
wuth a quick, light foot approaches. 


meaning of 
Some one 


It is now night. The palace is asleep, but I take again 
my pen to tell you of the accomplishment of the dear ob- 
ject lor which I have wandered to this distant spot. Cal- 
purnius IS arrived! ^ 


j The ^ quick, light foot by which I was disturbed was 
i<austa s I knew it, and sprung to the door. She met 
me with her bright and glowing countenance burstine with 
expression. “ Oalpumius!” said she, “ your brother! is 
here —and seizing my hand drew me to the apartment 
where he sat by the side of Gracchus; Isaac, with his in- 
separable pack, standing near. 

I need not, as I can not, describe our meeting. It was 
the meeting of brothers—yet of strangers— and a confusion 
ol wonder, curiosity, vague expectation, and doubt, pos- 
sessed the soul of each. I trust and beheve, that notwith- 
standing the different political bias which sways each, the 
ancient ties which bound us together as brothers will again 
unite us. The countenance of Calpurnius, though dark 
and almost stern in its general expression, yet unbends and 
relaxes frequently and suddenly, in a manner that im- 
presses you forcibly with an inward humanity as the presid- 
ing though often concealed quality of his nature. I can 
trace faintly the features which, have been stamped upon 
my memory — and the form too — chiefly by the recollected 
scene of that bright morning, when he with our elder 
brother and venerable parent gave me each a last embrace, 
as they started for the tents of Valerian. A warmer cli- 
mate has deepened the olive of his complexion, and at the 
same time added brilliancy to an eye by nature soft as a 
woman's. Ilis Persian dress increases greatly the eflect of 
his rare beauty, yet I heartily wish it off, as it contributes 


30 


ZENOBIA. 


more I believe than the lapse of so many years to separate 
us. He will not seem and feel as a brother till he returns 
to the costume of his native land. How great this power 
of mere dress is upon our affections and our regard, you can 
yourself bear witness, when those who parted from you to 
travel in foreign countries have returned metamorphosed into 
Greeks, Egyptians, or Persians, according to the fashions 
that have struck their foolish fancies. The assumed and 
foreign air chills the untraveled heart as it greets them. 
They are no longer the same. However the reason may 
strive to overcome what seems the mere prejudice of awa}^- 
ward nature, we strive in vain — nature will be uppermost 
— and many, many times have I seen the former friendships 
break away and perish. 

I could not but be alive to the general justness of the 
comparison instituted by Isaac, between Calpurnius and 
Julia. There are many points of resemblance. The very 
same likeness in kind that we so often observe between a 
brother and sister — such as we have often remarked in our 
nephew and niece, Drusus and Lavinia — whose dress being 
changed, and they are changed. 

No sooner had I greeted and welcomed my brother, than 
I turned to Isaac and saluted him, I am persuaded, with 
scarcely less cordiality. 

I sincerely bless the gods,^^ said I, “ that you have es- 
caped the perils of two such passages through the desert, 
and are safe in Palmyra. May every wish of your heart, 
concerning your beloved Jerusalem, be accomplished. In 
the keeping of Demetrius will you find not only the single . 
talent agreed upon in case you returned, but the two which 
were to be paid had you perished. One such tempest upon ' 
the desert, escaped, is more and worse than death itself j 
met softly upon oner's bed. ” 

‘‘ Now, Jehovah be praised,^ ^ ejaculated Isaac, ‘‘ who ; 
himself has moved thy heart to this grace! Israel will feel h 
this bounty through every limb, it will be to her as the oil ■; 
of life. ^ j 

“ And my debt,^’ said Calpurnius, ‘‘ is greater yet, and 1 
should in reason be more largely paid. Through the j 
hands of Demetrius I will discharge it.^' i 

“We are all bound to you,^^ said Fausta, “ more than , 
words can tell or money pay. ^ ^ i 

“You owe more than you are perhaps aware of to th^; 


ZENOBIA. 


37 

fnr Calpumius. “ Had it not been 

tor the laithful zeal and cunning of your messenger in his 
arguments not less than his contrivances, 1 had hardly now 
been sitting within the walls of Palmyra/" 

“ But then again, noble Roman,” said Isaac, “to be 
nonest, I ought to say what I said not— for it had not then 
occurred— m my letter to thy brother, how by my indiscre- 
tion I h^ nearly brought upon myself the wrath, even unto 
death, of a foul Persian mob, and so sealed thy fate together 
with my OTO. Ye have heai-d doubtless of Manes the Per- 
Sian, who deems himself some great one, and sent of God ^ 
It was noised abroad ere I left Palmyra, that for failing in 
a much boasted attempt to work a cure by miracle upon 
the Prmce Hormisdas, he had been strangled by order of 
feapor. Had he done so, his love of death-doing had at 
length fallen upon a proper object, a true child of Satan, 
.but as 1 can testify, his end was not such, and is not yet. 
He still walks the earth, poisoning the air he breathes, and 
1 ^ souls of men. Him I encountered one day, 
the very day I had dispatched thy letter, in the streets of 
hebatana, dogged at the heels by his twelve ragged apostles, 
dragging along their thin and bloodless limbs, that seemed 
each step ready to give way beneath the weight, little as it 
was, they had to bear. Their master .putfed up with the 
pride of a reformer, as forsooth he holds himself, stalked 
by at their head, drawing the admiration of the besotted 
people by his great show of sanctity, and the wise saws 
which every now and then he let drop for the edification cf 
cuch as heard. Some of these sayings fell upon my ear, and 
who was I, to hear them and not speak? Ye may know 
that this false prophet has made it his aim to bring into 
one the Magian and Christian superstitions, so that by such 
incongruous and deadly mixture he might feed the disciples 
of those two widely sundered religions, retaining, as he fool- 
ishly hoped, enough of the faith of each to satisfy all who 
should receive the compound. In doing this he hath cast 
dirt upon the religion of the Jew, blasphemously teaching 
that our sacred books are the work of the author of evil, 
while those of Christ are by the author of good. With 
more zeal, it must be confessed, than wisdom, seeing where 
I was and why I was there, I resisted this father of lies, 
and withstood him to his face. “ Who art thou, bold 
blasphemer/" I said, “ that takest away the Godhead^ 


38 


ZEKOBIA. 


breaking into twain that which is infinite and indivisible? 
Who art thou to tread into the dust the faith’ of Abraham, 
and Moses, and the prophets, imputing their words, uttered 
by the spirit of Jehovah, to the great enemy of mankind? 
I wonder, people of Ecbatana, that the thunders of God 
sleep, and strike him not to the earth as a rebel — nay, that 
the earth cleaveth not beneath him and swalloweth him not 
up, as once before the rebels Korah, Dathan, and Abiram;^^ 
and much more in the same mad way, till while I was yet 
speaking, those lean and hungry followers of his set upon 
me with violence, ciying out against me as a Jew, and stir- 
ring up the people, who were nothing unwilling, but fell 
upon me, and throwing me down, dragged me to a gate of 
the city, and casting me out as I had been a dead dog, 
returned themselves like dogs to their vomit — that accursed 
dish of Manichean garbage. I believed myself for a long 
while surely dead; and in my half conscious state took 
shame to myself, as I was bound to do, for meddling in 
the affairs of Pagan misbelievers — putting thy safety at 
risk. Through the compassion of an Arab woman dwell- 
ing without the walls, I was restored and healed — for whose 
sake I shall ever bless the Ishmaelite. I doubt not, 
Roman, while I lay at the hut of that good woman, thou 
though test me a false man?^^ 

“ J could not but think so,^^ said Calpurnius, “ and after 
the strong desire of escape which you have at length kin- 
dled, I assure you I heaped curses upon you in no stinted 
measure. 

“ But all has ended well and so all is well,^^ said Fausta, 
“ and it was perhaps too much to expect, Isaac, that you 
should stand quietly by and hear the religion of ^our 
fathers traduced. You are well rewarded for what you did 
and suffered, by the light in which your tribe will now re- 
gard you, as an almost-martyr, and owing to no want of 
will, or endeavor on your part, that almost did not end in 
quite. Hannibal, good Isaac, will now see to your enter- 
tainment.'’^ 


One word if it please you,^^ said Isaac, ‘‘ before I de- 
part. The Gentile despises the Jew. He charges upon 
him usury and extortion. He accuses him of avarice. He 
believes him to subsist upon the very life-blood of whomso- 
ever he can draw into his meshes. I have known those 
who have firm faith that the Jew feeds but upon the flesh 


i 


] 


ZEKOBIA. 


39 


and blood of Pagan and Christian infants, whom, by 
necromantic power, he beguiles from their homes. He is 
held as the common enemy of man, a universal robber, 
whom all are bound to hate and oppress. Pevvard me 
now with your belief, better than even the two gold talents 
I have earned, that all are not such. This is the charity, 
and all that I would beg; and I beg- it of you, for that I love 
you all, and would have your esteem. Believe that in the 
Jew tliere is a heart of flesh' as well as in a dog. Believe 
that some noble ambition visits his mind as well as yours. 
Credit it not — it is against nature — that any tribe of man 
is what you make the Jew. Look upon me, and behold 
the emblem .of my tribe. What do you see? A man bent 
with years and toil; this ragged tunic his richest garb; his 
face worn with the storms of all climates; a wanderer over 
the earth; my home — Piso, thou hast seen it — a single 
room, with rny good dromedary’s furniture for my bed at 
night, and my seat by day; this pack my only apparent 
wealth. Yet here have I now received two gold talents of 
Jerusalem! — what most would say were wealth enough, 
and this is not the tithe of that which I possess. What 
then? Is it for that I love obscurity, slavery, and a beg- 
gar’s raiment, that I live and labor thus, when my wealth 
would raise me to a prince’s state? Or is it that I love to 
sit and count my hoarded gains? Good friends, for such 
you are, believe it not. You have found me faithful and 
true to my engagements; believe my word also. You have 
heard of Jerusalem, once the chief city of the East, where 
stood the great temple of our faith, and which was the 
very heart of our nation, and you know how it was be- 
leagured by the Romans, and its very foundations rooted 
up, and her inhabitants driven abroad as outcasts, to wan- 
.der over the face of the earth, with everywhere a country, 
but nowhere a home. And does the Jew, think you, sit 
down quietly fluder these wrongs? Trajan’s reign may an- 
swer that. Is there no patriotism yet alive in the bosom 
of a Jew? AVill every other toil and die for his country 
and not the Jew? Believe me again, the prayers which go 
up morning, noon and night, for the restoration of Jerusa- 
lem, are not fewer than those which go up for Rome or 
Palmyra. And their deeds are not less; for every prayer 
there are two acts. It is. for Jerusalem! that you behold 
me thus in rags, and yet rich. It is for her glory that I 


40 


ZENOBIA. 


am the servant of all and the scorn of all_, that I am now 
pinched by the winters of Byzantium, now scorched by the 
heats of Asia, and buried beneath the sands of the desert. 
Ail that I have and am is for Jerusalem. And in telling 
you of myself, I have told you of my tribe. What we do 
and are is not for ourselves, but for our country. Friends, 
the hour of our redemption draweth nigh. The Messiah 
treads in the steps of Zenobia! and when the East shall be- 
hold the disasters of Aurelian — as it will — it will behold the 
restoration of that empire, which is destined in the lapse of 
ages to gather to itself the glory and dominion of the whole 
earth. 

Saying these words, during which he seemed no longer 
Isaac the Jew, but the very Prince of the Captivity himself, 
he turned and took his departure. 

Long and earnest conversation now ensued, in which we 
received from Calpurnius the most exact accounts of his 
whole manner of life during his captivity; of his early suf- 
ferings and disgraces, and his late honors and elevation; 
and gave in return similar details concerning the history of 
our family and of Rome, during the same period of time. 
I will not pretend to set down the narrative of Calpurnius. 
It was delivered with a grace which I can by no means 
transfer to these pages. I trust you may one day hear it 
from his own lips. Neither can I tell you how beautiful it 
was to see Fausta hanging upon his words, with a devotion 
that made her insensible to all else — ^her varying color and 
changing expression showing how deeply she sympathized 
with the narrator. When he had ended, and we had be- 
come weary of the excitement of this first interview, Fausta 
proposed that we should separate to meet again at supper. 
To this we agreed. 

According to the pi’oposal of Fausta, we were again soon 
as evening had come, assembled around the table of the 
princely Gracchus. 

When we had partaken of the luxuries of the feast, and 
various lighter discourse had caused the time to pass by in 
an agreeable manner, I said thus, turning to my brother: 

“1 would, Calpurnius, that the temper of one ^s mind 
could as easily be changed as one^s garments. You now 
seem to me, having put off your Persian robes, far more 
like Piso than before. Your dress, though but in part 
Roman and part Palmyrene, still brings you nearer. Were 


ZENOBIA. 


41 


it wholly Roman it were better. Is nothing of the Persian 
really put off, and nothing of the Roman put on, by this 
change?'’^ 

Whatever of the Persian there was about me,^^ replied 
Calpurnius, “ I am free to say I have laid aside with my 
Persian attire. I was a Persian not by choice and prefer- 
ence, I need scarcely assure you, but by a sort of necessity, 
just as it was with my costume. I. could not procure 
Roman clothes if I would. I could not help too putting oft' 
the Roman — seeing how I was dealt by — and putting on 
the Persian. Yet I part with whatever of the Persian has 
cleaved to me without reluctance — would it were so that I 
could again assume the Roman — but that can never be. 
But Isaac has already told you all. 

‘ ‘ Isaac has mdeed informed me in his letter from Ecba- 
tana, that you had renounced your country, and that it 
was the expectation of war with Rome that alone had power 
to draw you from your captivity. But I have not believed 
that you would stand by that determination. The days of 
Republican patriotism I know are passed, but even now 
under the empire our country has claims and her children 
owe her duties. 

“ The figure is a common one,^^ Calpurnius answered, 
“by which our country is termed a parent, and we her 
children. AUow it just. Do I owe obedience to an unjust 
or tyrannical parent? to one who has abandoned me in 
helplessness or exposed me in infancy? Are not the natural 
ties then sundered ?^^ 

“ I think not,"" I replied; “ no provocation nor injury 
can justify a parricidal blow. Our parent is our creator- 
in some sense a God to us. The tie that binds us to him is 
like no other tie; to do it violence, is not only a wrong, but 
an impiety."" , 

“ I can not think so,"" he rejoined. A parent is our 
creator, not so much for our good as his o^vn pleasure. In 
the case of the gods this is reversed: they have given us 
being for our advantage, not theirs. We lie under obliga- 
tion, to a parent then, only as he fulfills the proper duties 
of one. When he ceases to be virtuous, the child must 
cease to respect. AVhen he ceases to be just, or careful, or 
kind, the child must cease to love. And from whomsoevei- 
else then the child receives the treatment becoming a par- 
ent, that person is to him the true parent. It is idle to be 


4:2 


ZEKOBIA. 


governed by names rather than things; it is more, it is mis- 
chievous and injurious/^ 

‘‘ I still am of opinion," I replied, that nature has or- 
dained what I have asserted to be an everlasting and uni- 
versal truth, by the instincts which she has implanted. All 
men, of all tribes, have united in expressions of hori’or 
against him who does violence to his parents. And have 
not the poets truly painted, when they have set before us 
the parricide, forever after 'the guilty act, pursued by the 
Furies, and dehvered over to their judicial torments 

“All instincts, " he replied, “are not to be defended; 
some animals devour their own young as soon as born. 
Vice is instinctive. If it be instinctive to honor, and love, 
and obey a vicious parent, to be unresisting under the most 
galling oppression, then I say, the sooner reason usurps 
the place of instinct the safer for mankind. No error can 
be more gross or hurtful, than to respect vice because of 
the person in whom it is embodied, even though that per- 
son be a parent. Vice is vice, injustice is injustice, wrong 
is wrong, wheresoever they are found; and are to be de- 
tested and withstood. But I might admit that I am in an 
error here; and still maintain my cause by denying the 
justice of the figure by which our country is made our par- 
ent, and our obligations to her made to rest on the ‘same 
ground. It is mere fancy, it is a nullity, unless it be true, 
as I think it is, that it has been the source of great mis- 
chiefs to the world, in which case it can not be termed a 
nullity, but something positively pernicious. What age of 
the world can be named when an insane devotion to one's 
country has not been the mother of war upon war, evil 
upon evil, beyond the power of memory to recount? Pa- 
triotism, standing for this instinctive slavery of the will, 
has cursed as much as it has blessed mankind. Men have 
not reasoned, they have only felt: they have not inquired, 
is the cause of my country just— but is it her cause? That 
has ever been the cry in Eome. ‘ Our country! our coiin- 
try! right or wrong-— our country!' It is a maxim good for 
conquest and despotism; bad, for peace and justice. It has 
made Rome mistress of the world, and at the same time the 
scourge of the world, and trodden down into their own 
blood-stained soil the people of many a clime, who had else 
dwelt in freedom. I am no Roman in this sense, and 
ought never to have been. Admit that I am not justified 


ZEKOBIA. 


43 


in raising my hand against the life of a parent— though if 
I could defend myself against violence no otherwise, I 
should raise that hand — I will never allow that I am to ap- 
prove and second with my best blood all the acts of my 
country; hut when she errs am bound, on the other hand, 
to blame, and if need be oppose. Why not? What is tliis 
coimtry? Men like myself. Who enact the decrees by 
which I am to be thus bound? Senators, no more pro- 
foundly wise perhaps, and no more irreproachably virtuous, 
than myself. And do I owe their judgments, which I es- 
teem false, a dearer allegiance than I do to my own, which 
I esteem right and true? Never; such patriotism is a deg- 
radation and a vice. Kome, Lucius, I think to have dealt by 
me and the miserable men who, with me, fell into the 
hands of Sapor, after the manner of a selfish, cold-hearted, 
unnatural parent, and I renounce her, and all allegiance 
to her. I am from this hour a Palmyrene, Zenobia is my 
mother. Palmyra my country. 

But,^^ I could not but still urge, “ should no distinc- 
tion be made between your country and her emperor? Is 
the country to rest under the imputation which is justly, 
perhaps, cast upon him? That were hardly right. To 
renounce GalHenus, were he now emperor, were a defensi- 
ble act: but why Pome or Aurelian?^^ 

I freely grant, that had a just emperor been put upon 
the throne, a man with human feelings, the people, had 
he projected our rescue or revenge, would have gone with 
him. But how is their conduct to be defended during the 
long reign of the son of Valerian? Was such a people as 
the people of Rome to conform their minds and acts to a 
monster like him? Was that the part of a great nation? 
Is it credible that the senate and the people together, had 
no power to compel Gallienus to the performance of his 
duties to his own father, and the brave . legions who fell 
with him? Alas! they too wanted the will.'’^ 

Oh not so, Calpurnius,^^ I rejoined; Gallienus wished 
the death or captivity of his father, that he might reign. 
^J'o release him was the last act that wretch could have been 
urged to do. And could he then have been made to inter- 
pose for the others? He might have been assassinated, but 
all the power of Rome could not have compelled him to a 
war, the issue of which might have been, by the rescue of 
Valerian, to lose him his throne. " 


44 


ZEKOBIA. 


‘‘ Then he should have been assassinated. Eome owed 
herself a greater duty than allegiance to a beast in human 
form.^^ 

But, Calpurnius, you now enjoy your liberty. Why 
consider so curiously whence it comes? Besides, you have, 
while in Persia, dwelt in comfort, and at last even in 
magnificence.- The Prince himself has been your compan- 
ion and friend.'’^ 

“ AVhat was it,^'’ he replied, ‘‘ what was it, when I re- 
flected upon myself, but so much deeper degradation, to 
find that in spite of myself I was every day sinking deeper 
and deeper in Persian effeminacy? What was it but the 
worst wretchedness of all to feel as I did, that I, a Roman 
and a Piso, was losing my nature as I had lost my country? 
If anything served to tmm my blood into one liot current of 
bitterness and revenge, it was this. It will never cool till I 
find myself, sword in hand, under the banners of Zenobia. 
Urge me no more: it were as hopeful an endeavor to stem>. 
the current of the Euphrates, as to turn me from my pur ■ 
pose. I have reasoned with you because you are a brother, 
not because you are a Roman. ^ ^ 

“And rephed, “can still love you, because yon 

are a brother, nor less because you are also a Palmyrene. 

I greet you as the head of our house, the elder heir of an. 
illustrious name. I still will hope, that when these trouble^i 
cease, Rome may claim you as her own. 

“No emperor, he answered, “ unless he were a Piso, 1 
fear, would permit a renegade of such rank ever to dwell 
within the walls of Rome. Let me rather hope, that when 
this war is ended, Portia may exchange Rome for Palmyra, 
and that here, upon this fair and neutral ground, the 
Pisos may once more dwell beneath the same roof. " 

“ May it be so,'’^ said Gracchus; “ and let not the heats of 
political opposition change the kindly current of your blood, 
nor inflame it. You, Lucius Piso, are to remember the 
provocations of Calpurnius, and are to feel that there w^as 
a nobleness in that sensibihty to a declension into Persian 
effeminacy that, to say the least, reflects quite as much 
honor upon the name of Piso, and even Roman, as any 
loyalty to an emperor like Gallienus, or that senate filled 
with his creatures. And you, Calpurnius Piso, are to allow 
for that instinctive veneration for everytliing Roman which 
grows up with the Roman, and even in spite of his better 


ZEUOBIA. 45 

reason ripens into a bigotry that deserves the oame of a 
crime rather than a virtue, and are to consider, that whiie 
in you the growth of this false sentiment has been checked 
by causes, in respect to which you were the sport of fort- 
une, so in Lucius it has been quickened by other causes 
over which he also was powerless. But to utter my belief, 
Lucius I think is now more than half Palmyrene, and I 
trust yet, if committed as he has been to the further tui- 
tion of our patriot Fausta, will be not only in part, but alto- 
gether of our side. 

In the meantime, let us rejoice,” said Fausta, that 
the noble Calpurnius joins our cause. If we may judge by 
the eye, the soft life of a Persian Satrap has not quite ex- 
hausted the native Roman vigor.” 

I have never intermitted,” replied Calpurnius, ‘‘ mar- 
tial exercises: especially have I studied the whole art of 
horsemanship, so far as the chase and mihtary discipline 
can teach it. It is in her cavalry, as I learn, that Zenobia 
places her strength: I shall there, I trust, do her good serv- 
ice. ” 

‘‘ In the morning, said Fausta, ‘‘ it shall be my office 
to bring you before our Queen. ” 

“ And now, Fausta,” said Gracchus, “ bring your harp, 
and let music perfect the harmony which reason and phi- 
losophy have already so well begun; music — ^which for its 
power over our souls, may rather be held an influence of 
the gods, a divine breathing, than anything of mortal 
birth. ” 

‘‘ I fear,” said Fausta, as she touched the instrument — 
the Greek and not the Jewish harp — “ I shall still further 
task your philosophy; for I can sing nothing else than the 
war-song, which is already heard all through the streets of 
Palmyra, and whose author, it is said, is no less than our 
chief spirit, Longinus. Lucius, you must close your ears. ^ ^ 

“ Never, while your voice soimds, though bloody treason 
were the only burden.” 

‘‘You are a gentle Roman.” 

Then after a brief but fiery prelude, which of itself 
struck by her fingers was enough to send life into stones, 
she broke forth into a strain, abrupt and impassioned, of 
wild Pindaric energy, that seemed the very war-cry of a 
people striking and dying for liberty. Her voice, inspired 
by a soul too large for mortal form, rang like a trumpet 


46 


2EK0BIA. 


through the apartment, and seemed to startle the gods 
themselves at their feast. As the hymn moved on to its 
perfect close, and the voice of Fausta swelled with the Wfix- 
ing theme, Calpurnius seemed like one entranced; uncon- 
sciously he had left his seat, and there, in the midst of the 
room, stood before the divine girl converted to a statue. 

As she ceased, the eyes of Calpurnius fell quickly upon me, 
^vith an expression wliich 1 instantly interpreted, and 
should have instantly returned, but that we were all alike 
roused out of ourselves by the loud shouts of a multitude 
without the palace, who apparently had been drawn to- 
gether by the far-reaching tones of Fausta ^s voice, and who, 
as soon as the last strings of the harp were touched testi- 
fied their delight by reiterated and enthusiastic cries. 

When Zabdas and Zenobia fail,^^ said Calpurnius, 

“ you, daughter of Gracchus, may lead the armies of your 
country by your harp and voice; they would inspire not 
less than the fame of Caesar or Aurelian.-’^ 

‘‘ But be it known to you, Piso,^-’ said Gracchus, ‘‘ that 
this slight girl can wield a lance or a sword, while centaui- 
like she grows to the animal she rides, as well as sweep 
these idle strings. ^ 

“I will learn of her in either art," replied my brother. 

As I acknowledge no instinct which is to bind me to 
an unjust parent, but will give honor only where there is 
virtue, so on the field of war I will enlist under any leader 
in whom I behold the genius of a warrior, be that leader 
man or woman, boy or girl. 

I shall be satisfied, ^ said Fausta, to become your 
teacher in music, that is, if you can learn through the force 
of example alone. Take' now another lesson. Zenobia 
shall teach you the art of war. 

ith these words she again passed her fingers over her 
harp, and after strains of melting sweetness, prolonged till 
our souls were wholly subdued to the sway of the gentler 
emotions, she sang m words of Sappho, the praise of love 
and peace, twin sisters. And then as we urged, or named 
to her, Greek or Roman airs which we wished to hear, did 
she sing and play till every sense was satisfied and filled. 

It needs not so much sagacity as I possess to perceive 
the effect upon my brother of the beauty and powers of 
bausta. He speaks with difficulty when he addresses her, 
and while arguing or conversing with me or Gracchus, his ' 


ZEITOBIA. 


4r 

eye seeks her countenance, and then falls as it encounter? 
hers, as if he had committed some crime. Fausta, I am 
sure, is not insensible to the many rare and striking quali- 
ties of Calpurnius: but her aftections can be given only 
where there is a soul of very , uncommon elevation. 
Whether Calpurnius is throughout that, which he seems to 
be, and whether he is worthy the love of a being like 
Fausta, I know not yet, though I am strong in faith that 
it is so. In the meantime, a mutual affection is springing 
up and growing upon the thin soil of the fancy, and may 
reach a quick and rank luxuriance before it shall be discov- 
ered that there is nothing more substantial beneath. But 
why indulge a single doubt? only, I suppose, because I 
would rather Rome should fall than that any harm come to 
the heart of Fausta. 

It was a little after the noon of this day that the embas- 
sadors, Petronius and Varro, passed from out the gates of 
Palmyra, bearing with them a virtual declaration of war. 

The greatest excitement prevails. The streets are already 
filled with sights and sounds admonitory of the scenes 
which are soon to be disclosed. There is the utmost en- 
thusiasm in every quarter, and upon every face you behold 
the confidence and pride of those who, accustomed to con- 
quest, are about to extend their dominion over new territo- 
ries, and to whom war is a game of pleasure rather than a 
dark hazard, that may end in utter desolation and ruin. 
Intrenched within these massy walls, the people of this gay 
capital can not realize war. Its sounds have ever been afar 
off', beyond the wide sweep of the deserts; and will be now, 
so they judge — and they are scarcely turned for a moment, 
or by the least remove, from their accustomed cares, or 
pleasures. 


LETTER Xn. 

I LAMENT to hear of the disturbance among your slaves, 
and of the severity with which you have thought it neces- 
sary to proceed against them. You will bear me witness 
that I have often warned you that the cruelty with which 
Tiro exercised his authority would lead to difficulties, if not 
to violence and murder. I am not surprised to learn his 
fate; I am indeed very free to say that I rejoice at it. I 
rejoice not that you are troubled in your affairs, but that 


48 


ZEifOBIA. 


such an inhuman overseer as Tiro, a man wholly un- 
worthy the kindness and indulgence with which you 
have treated him, should at length be overtaken by a 
just retribution. That the poison took effect upon his wife 
and children I sincerely regret, and wish that some other 
mode of destruction had been chosen, whose effects could 
have been safely directed and limited, for I do not believe 
• that the least ill-will existed toward Claudia and her little 
ones. But rest satisfied, I beseech you, with the punish- 
ments already infiicted: enough have been scourged, put to 
the torture, and crucified: let the rest escape. Kemember 
your disposition, now indulgent, now tyrannical, and lay a 
restraint upon your passions if you would save yourself 
from lasting regrets. It is some proof that you are looking 
to yourself more than formerly, that so many have been 
imprisoned to wait a further deliberation, and that you are 
willing first to ask my opinion. Be assured that further 
crucifixions would serve only to exasperate those who sur- 
vive, and totally alienate them from you, so that your own 
life instead of being the more safe, would be much loss so. 
They will be driven to despair, and say that they may as 
well terminate their wretched lives in one way as another, 
and so end all at once by an assault upon yourself and 
Lucilla, which, while it destroyed you, and so glutted their 
revenge, could do no more than destroy them — a fate which 
they dread now— but which at all times, owing to their 
miseries, they dread much less than we suppose, and so 
are more willing than we imagine to take the lives of their 
masters or governors, not caring for death themselves. A 
well-timed lenity would now be an act of policy as well as 
of yirtue. Those whom you have reprieved, being par- 
doned, will be bound to you by a sort of gratitude — those 
of them at least who put a value upon their lives — and now 
that Tiro is fairly out of the way, and his scourgings at an 
end, they will all value their lives at a higher rate than be- 
fore. 

But let me especially intercede for Laco and Cselia, with 
their children. It was they, who, when I have been at 
your farm, have chiefiy attended upon me; they have done 
me many acts of kindness beyond the mere duties of their 
office, and have ever manifested dispositions so gentle, and 
so much above their condition, that I feel sure they can 
not be guilty of taking any part in the crime. They have 


ZENOBIA. 


49 


been always too happy, to put their all at risk by such an 
attempt. Be assured they are innocent; and they are too 
good to be sacrificed merely for the effect. There are others, 
wretches in all respects, who will serve for this, if enough 
have not already suffered. 

W hen will sentiments of justice assert their supremacy in 
the human mind? When will our laws and institutions 
recognize the rights inherent in every man, as man, and 
compel their observance? When I reflect that I myself 
possess, upon one only of my estates, five hundred slaves, 
over whom I wield despotic power, and that each one of 
these differs not fi’om myself except in the position into 
which fortune and our laws have cast him,- 1 look with a 
sort of horror upon myself, the laws, and my coimtry which 
enacts and maintains them. But if we can not at once 
new* model our institutions and laws, we can do something. 
By a strict justice, and by merciful treatment, we can 
mitigate the evils of their lot who are within our own power. 
W^e can exercise the authority and temper of fathers, and 
lay aside in a greater degree than we do, the air and man- 
ner of tyrant. When upon the fields of every farm, as I 
ride through our interior, I hear the lash of the task-mas- 
ter, and behold the cross rearing aloft its victim to poison 
the air with foetid exhalations and strike terror into all who 
toil within their reach, I hate my country and my nature, 
and long for some power to reveal itself, I care not of what 
kind nor in what quarter, capable to reform a state of 
society, rotten as this is to its very heart. 

You yourself, advocate as you are for the existing order 
of things, would be agitated alternately by horror and 
compassion, were I to relate to you the scenes described to 
me by Milo, as having a thousand times been witnessed by 
him when in the service of Gallienus. To torture and de- 
stroy his slaves, by the most ingenious devices of cruelty, 
was his daily pastime. They were purchased for this very 
end. When I see you again, I will give you instances with 
which I could not soil these pages. Antiochus, were he in 
Rome, would be a monster of the same stamp. But all 
this is, as I have often mentioned, a necessary accompani- 
ment of such power as the laws confer upon the owner. 

And now that war has actually broken out between 
Palmyra and Rome, you will wish to know what part I in- 


50 


ZENOBIA. 


tend to take. Your letters imply, that in such -an event 
you would expect my immediate return. But this pleasure 
must, for the present at least, be deferred. I am too 
deeply interested in too many here, to allow me to forsake 
them in a time of so much anxiety, and as I think of peril 
too. Zenobia's full consent I have already obtained; in- 
deed, she is now desirous that I should remain. The 
services that I have accidentally rendered her have increased 
the regard with which she treats me. I confess too that I 
am less unwilling to remain than I was, out of a rooted dis- 
approbation of Sie violent course of Aurelian. I can not, 
as Calpurnius has done, renounce my country; but I can 
blame our emperor. His purposes are without a color of 
justice; nor are they only unjust and iniquitous, they are 
impolitic. I can enter fully into and defend the feelings 
and arguments of Palmyra in this direction. Her cause is 
in the main a just one. She has done somewhat indeed to 
provoke a sensitive and jealous mind; but nothing to war- 
rant the step which Aurelian is taking. _ And when I coun- 
sel peace, and by concessions too, I do it not because I hold 
it right that such concessions should be made, but because 
I deem it frantic on the paH of Zenobia to encounter the 
combined power of Rome, under such a soldier as Aure- 
lian. My sympathies are accordingly enlisted in behalf of 
this people as a people; my heart is closely bound to both 
the house of Gracchus and Zenobia; and therefore I can 
not leave them. I shall not bear arms against my country; 
I think I would sooner die; but in any case of extremity I 
shall not wear a sword in vain, if by using it I can save the 
life or honor of persons dear to me. I am firm in the be- 
lief, that no such extremity will aver present itself; but 
should it come, I am ready for it. I can not but hope that 
a battle, one or more, upon the outskirts of the empire, will 
satisfy the pride of Aurelian, and convince the Queen, that 
to contend for empire with him, and Rome at his back, is 
vain, and that negotiation will therefore end what passion 
has begun. I shall expect no other issue than this. Then, 
having done all here, I shall return to Italy, if the Queen 
relents not, to pass an unhappy life upon the Tiburtine 
farm. 

Preparations of every kind for . the approaching contest 
are going forward with activity. The camp of the Queen 
is forming without the walls upon a wide and beautiful 


ZEKOBIA. 


51 

plain, stretchiDg toward the south. One army will he 
formed here chiefly consisting of cavalry, in which lies the 
strength of the Queen, and another in the vicinity of 
Antioch, where a junction will be effected, and whence the 
whole ydll move either toward the Bosphorus or Egypt, 
according to the route which it shall be learned Aurelian 
intends to pursue. 

During mesefew days that have elapsed since the depart- 
ure of the embassadors, the stir and confusion incident to 
such a time have continually increased. In the streets, I 
meet scarce any who are not engaged in some service con- 
nected with the army. Troops of soldiers are forming, ex- 
ercising at their arms, and passing from the city as they 
are severally equipped to join the camp. The shops of the 
armorers resound with the blows of an innumerable body 
of artisans manufacturing or repairing those brilliant suits 
of steel for which the cavalry of Zenobia are distinguished. 
Immense repositories of all the various weapons of our 
modern warfare, prepared by the Queen against seasons of 
emergency, furnish forth arms of the most perfect work- 
manship and metal to all who offer themselves for the ex- 
pedition. Without the walls in every direction, the eye be- 
holds clouds of dust raised by different bodies of the Queen's 
forces, as they pour in from their various encampments to 
one central point. Trains of sumptuary elephants and 
camels, making a part of every legion as it comes up, and 
stretching their long lines from the verge of the plain to 
the very walls, contribute a fresh beauty and interest to the 
scene. 

Within the camp, whatever the tumult and confusion 
may be without, everything is conducted with the most ad- 
mirable order, and with the observance of a discipline as 
exact, if not as severe, as that of Vespasian, or Aurelian 
hiniself. Here are to be seen the commanders of the chief ‘ 
divisions of the army inspecting the arms and equipments 
of each individual soldier, and not with less diligence in- 
quiring into the mettle and points of the horse he rides. 
Every horse, pronounced in any way defective, is rejected 
from the service and another procured. The Queen's 
stable has been exhausted in providing in this manner sub- 
stitutes for such as have been set aside as unworthy. 

Zenobia herself is the most active and laborious of all. 
She is in every place, seeing with her own eyes that eveiy 


62 


ZENOBIA. 


arrangement and provision ordered to be made is completed, 
and that in the most perfect manner. All the duties of a 
general are performed by her, with a freedom, a power, 
and a boldness, that fills one with astonishment who is 
acquainted with those opposite qualities which render her, 
as a woman, the most lovely and fascinating of her sex. 
She is seen sometimes driving rapidly through the streets in 
an open chariot, of the antique form; but more frequently 
on horseback, with a small body of attendants, who have 
quite enough to do to keep pace with her, so as to catch 
from her the orders which she rapidly issues, and then exe- 
cute them in every part of the camp and city. She inspires 
all who behold her with her own spirit. In every soldier 
and leader you behold something of the same alertness and 
impetuosity of movement which are so remarkable in her. 
She is the universal model; and the confidence m the re- 
sources of her genius is universal and boundless. “ Let 
our courage and conduct, they say, “ be only in some good 
proportion to our Queen ^s, and we may defy Kome and the 
world. As the idea of naught but conquest ever crosses 
their minds, the animation— even gayety that prevails in 
the camp and throughout the ranks is scarcely to be be- 
lieved, as it is, I doubt not, imparalleled in the history of 
war. V/ere she a goddess, and omnipotent, the trust in 
her could not be more unwavering. 

I have just encountered Calpumius returning from the 
palace of the Queen, whither he has been to offer his serv- 
ices during the war, in any capacity in which it might 
please her to employ him. 

‘‘ What was your reception?’^ said I. 

“ Such as Fausta had assured me of. She gives me a 
hearty welcome to her camp, and assigns me a legion of 
horse. And, in addition, one more charge dearer and yet 
more anxious a thousand-fold.-’^ 

“ May I know it?” said I, but readily surmising the nat-. 
ure of it. 

“It is,” he replied with visible emotion, “ Fausta her- 
self.” 

“ It is fixed then that she accompanies the Queen?” 

“ She entreats, and the Queen consents.-” 

“ Would that she could be turned from this purpose, but 
I suppose the united power of the East could not do it. To 
be near Zenobia, and if evil should befall her to share it^ 


2EK0BIA. 


53 


or to throw herself as a shield between the Queen and death, 
is what she pants for more than for renown, though it should 
be double that of Semiramis/^ 

Lucius, have you urged every reason, and used all the 
power you possess over her, to dissuade her?"^ 

“ I have done all I have dared to do. The decisions of 
some minds, you know, with the motives which sway them, 
we too much revere to oppose to them our own. Girl 
though Fausta be, yet when I see by the lofty expression of 
her countenance, her firm and steadfast eye, that she has 
taken her part, I have no assurance sufficient to question 
the rectitude of her determination, or essay to change it. 
I have more faith in her than in myself. 

‘‘ Yet it must never be,'’^ said my brother with earnest- 
ness; ‘‘ she could never support the fatigues of such a cam- 
paign, and it must not be permitted that she should en- 
counter the dangers and horrors of actual combat. I have 
learned that at the palace which, while it has dismissed the 
most painful apprehensions of one sort, has filled me with 
others more tolerable, but yet intolerable. How, Lucius, 
has it happened that your heart, soft in most of its parts, on 
one side has been adamant 

The way of the heart," I said, “like the way of 
Providence, is mysterious. I know not. Perhaps it was 
that I knew her longer in Eome and more closely than you, 
and the sentiment always uppermost toward her has been 
that of a brothers love. Hers toward me has never been 
other than the free, unrestrained affection of a sister. But 
you have not seen the Princess?^' 

“I have not. 

“ That will complete the explanation. The Queen rejects 
me; but I do not despair. But to return to Fausta. As no 
force could withhold her from the army, I thank the gods 
that in you she will find a companion and defender, and 
that to you the Queen has committed her. Fail her not, 
Calpurnius, in the hour of need. You do not know, for 
your eye has but taken in her outward form, what a jewel, 
richer than Eastern monarch ever knew, is intrusted to 
your care. Keep it as you would your own life, nay, your 
life will be well given for its safety. Forgive me, if in this 
I seem to charge you as an elder. Eemember that you I do 
not know, Fausta I do. Of you I scarcely know more than 
that you are a Piso, and that the very soul of honor ought 


54 


ZENOBIA. 


to dwell within you. The Queen's ready confidence in you, 
lays you under obligations heavy as injunctions from the 
gods to fidelity. If, as you journey on toward Antioch, the 
opportunities of the way throw you together, and your heart 
is won by your nearer knowledge of her sweet qualities as 
well as great ones, as your eye has already been, ask not, 
seek not, for hers, but after a close questioning of yourself 
whether you are worthy of her. Of your life and the true 
lineaments of your soul, you know everything, she knows 
nothing; but she is more free and unsuspicious than a 
child, and without looking further than the show and color 
of honesty and truth, will surrender up her heart where her 
fancy leads, trusting to find according to her faith, and to 
receive all that she gives. Brother though you be, I here 
invoke the curses of the gods upon your head, if the faintest 
purpose of dishonest or deceptive dealing have place within 
you." 

Your words," said Calpurnius in reply — a wholesome 
and natural expression of indignation spreading over his 
countenance, which inspired more confidence than anything 
he could say — “ your words, Lucius, are earnest and some- 
thing sharp. But I bear them without complaint, for the 
sake of the cause in which you have used them. I blame 
you not. It is true, I am a stranger both to yourself and 
Lausta, and it were monstrous to ask confidence before time 
has proved me. Leave it all to time. My conduct under 
this trust shall be my trial. Not till our return from 
Antioch will I aim at more than the happiness to be her 
companion and guard. The noble Otho will be near us, to 
whom you may commit us both." 

“ Brother," I rejoined, “ I doubt you not; but where 
our treasure is great, we are tormented by imaginary fears, 
and we guard it by a thousand surperfluous cares. What 
I have said has implied the existence of doubts and appre- 
hensions, but in sober truth they were forced into existence. 
My nature from the first has been full of trust in you; but 
this very promptness to confide, my anxious fears converted 
to a fault, and urged suspicion as a duty. Your counte- 
nance and your words have now inspired me with an assur- 
ance, not, I am certain, to be ever shaken, in your virtues. 
It shall be my joy to impart the same to Gracchus. Fausta 
shall be left free to the workings of her own mind and 
heart. " 


ZENOBIA. 


^ I should not have been justified, it seems to me, in say- 
ing less than this, though I said it "vith apprehensions, 
many and grave, of a breach between us, which perhaps 
time might never heal. It has ended in a deep and settled 
conviction that the character of Calpurnius is what it at 
first appears to be. Persian duplicity has made no lodg- 
ment within him, of that I am sure. And vdiere you feel 
sure of sincerity, almost any other fault may be borne. 

The army has taken up its march, and the city is de- 
prived of its best and bravest spirits — Zenobia and Fausta, 
those kindred souls, are gone. How desolate is this vast 
palace ! The loss of Gracchus and Fausta seems the loss of 
all. A hundred attendant slaves leave it still empty. 

A period of the most active preparation has been closed 
to-day, by the departure of as well-appointed an army as 
ever issued from the Praetorian camps. It was a spectacle 
as beautiful as my eyes ever beheld — and as sad. Let me 
set before you the events of the day. 

As L descended to the apartment where we take together 
our morning meal, and which we were now for the last 
time to partake in each otheF " " ’ 



already there, and surveying 


fiiished cheek a suit of the most brilliant armor, which 
having been made by the Queen's workmen, and by her 
order, had just now been brought and delivered to her. 

‘‘ I asked the honor," said the person with whom she 
was conversing, ‘^to bring it myself, who have made it 
with the same care as the Queen's, of the same materials, 
and after the same fashion. So it was her order to do. It 
will set, lady, believe me, as easy as a riding-dress, though 
it be all of the most impenetrable steel. The polish too is 
such that neither arrow nor javelin need be feared, they 
can but touch and glance. Hercules could not indent this 
surface. Let me reveal to you diverse secret and perfect 
springs and clasps, the use of which you should be well 
acq^uainted with. Yet it differs not so much from that in 
which you have performed your exercises, but you will 
readily comprehend the manner of its adjustment." 

He then went through with his demonstrations, and de- 
parted. 

‘‘This is beautiful indeed!" I said, as I sui-veyed and 
handled parts of the armor; “ the eye can hardly bear it 


zekobia. 


when the rays of the sun fall upon it. wish it was 

fairly back again in the shop of the armorer/^ 

‘‘That would be/" said Tausta, “ only to condemn me 
to an older and worse one; and if you should wish that 
away too^ it would be only to send me into the ranks de- 
fenseless. Surely that you would not do?"" 

“The gods forbid! I only mean that I would rather 
these walls, Fausta, should be your defense. You were 
not made, whatever you may think, to brave the dangers 
of the desei-t and the horrors of a war. Bo you remember 
at the amphitheater you hid your eyes from the cruel sights 
of the arena? I doubt not your courage; but it is not after 
your heart."" 

“From the useless barbarities of the circus I might 
indeed turn away my eyes, and yet I think with perfect 
consistency strike my lance into the heart of a man who 
came against my country or my Queen, nor even blench. 
But do not suppose that it is with any light or childish joy 
that I resolve to follow in the steps of Zenobia to the field 
of slaughter. I would far rather sit here in the midst of 
security and peace, making mimic war on my embroidery, 
or tuning my voice and harp, with Gracchus and you to 
listen and applaud. But there is that within me that for- 
bids my stay. I am urged from within by a voice which 
seems as the voice of a god, to do according to my strength, 
for what may be the last struggle of our country against 
the encroachments and ambition of Eome. You may 
deem it little that a woman can do."" 

‘ ‘ I confess I am of opinion, that many a substitute could 
do Palmyra a better service than even the arm of Fausta. 
A woman may do much and bravely, but a man may do 
more."" 

‘ ‘ Therein, Lucius, am I persuaded you err. If it were 
only that, in the language of Zabdas, I added so many 
pounds weight of bone and flesh, by adding myself to the 
Queen" s troops, I would stay at home. There are heavier 
arms than mine, for mine are slight, and sturdier limbs, 
for mine in spite of the sports of the field are still a wom- 
an"s. But you know nothing of Palmyra if you know not 
this, that her victories have been won, not by the arm, but 
by the presence of Zenobia; to be led to the onset by a 
woman, and that woman Zenobia — it is this that has in- 
fused a spirit and an enthusiasm into our soldiery that has 


zi:nobia. 


;7 


rendered them irresistible. AVere it a thousand against 
ten thousand, not a native Palmyrene would shrink from 
the trial, with Zenobia at their head. I am not Zenobia, 
Lucius, but what she can do for an army, I can do for a 
legion. IVl'ark the 'sensation, when this morning Zenobia 
presents herself to the army, and even when Fausta wheels 
into the ranks, and acknowledge that I have uttered a 
truth. " 

“ There must be truth in what you say, for were I in 
your train I can feel how far I should follow you, and 
when forsake you. But what you say only fills me with 
new apprehensions, and renders me the more anxious to 
detain you. What but certain death awaits you if you are 
to lead the way?” 

“ And why should I not die, as well as another? And 
is it of more consequence that Fausta, the daughter of 
Gracchus, should die upon a bed of down, and beneath 
silken canopies, than that the common soldier should, who 
falls at her side? How could I die better than at the head 
of a legion, who, as I fell, I saw sweeping on like a tem- 
pest to emulate and revenge my death ?P 

“ But Gracchus — has he another Fausta, or another 
child?” 

Her eyes were bent to the ground, and for a few mo- 
ments she was buried in thought. They were filled with 
tears as she raised them and said, 

‘‘ You may well suppose, Lucius, having witnessed, as 
you have, what the love is which I bear Gracchus, and how 
his life is- bound up in mine, that this has been my heaviest 
thought. But it has not prevailed with me to change my 
purpose, and ought not to do so. Could I look into fu- 
turity, and know that while I fell upon the plains of An- 
tioch, or on the sands of the desert, he returned to these 
walls to wear out, cliildless and in solitude, the remnant 
of his days, my weakness I believe would yield, and I 
should prefer my parent to my country. But the future is 
all dark. And it may as well be, that either we shall both 
fall, or both return; or that he may fall and I survive. It 
is unworthy of me, is it not then, to consider too curiously 
such chances? The only thing certain and of certain ad- 
vantage is this — I can do my country, as I deem it, a sig- 
nal service by joining her forces in this hour of peril. To 
this I cleave, and leave the rest to the disposal of the gods. 


ZElS’OBIiL. 


58 

But come, urge me no more, Lucius; my mind is finally 
resolved, and it but serves to darken the remaining hours. 
See, Gracchus and Calpurnius are come — let us to the ta- 

This last meal was eaten in silence, save the few required 
words of courtesy. 

Soon as it was over, Fausta, springing from her seat, 
disappeared, hastening to her apartments. She returned in 
a few moments, her dress changed and prepared for her 
armor. 

“Now, Lucius,"" she exclaimed, “your hour of duty 
has come, which is to fit upon me this queenly apparel. 
Show your dexterity, and prove that you too have seen the 
wars, by the grace with which you shall do your service. "" 

“ These pieces differ not greatl}^"" I said, “ from those 
which I have worn in Gaul and Germany, and were they 
to be fastened on my own limbs, or a comrade "s, the task 
were an easy one. I fear lest I may use too ro-ugh a hand 
in binding on this heavy iron. "" 

“ Oh, never fear— there, that is well. The Queen’s , 
armorer has said truly; tliis is easy as a robe of silk. Now 
these clasps — are they not well made? will they not catch?"" 

“The clasps are perfect, Fausta, but my eye is dim. 
Here — clasp them yourself;"" and I turned away. ^ 

“ Lucius, Lucius, are you a Eoman, with eyes so melt- ] 
ing? Julia were a better hand-maid. But one thing re- ■ 
mains, and that must be done by no other hand than j 
yours — crown me now with this helmet."" ; 

I took it from her and placed it upon her head, saying, 
as I did it, “ The gods shield you from danger, dear | 
Fausta, and when you have either triumphed or suffered j 
defeat, return you again to this happy roof! Now for my^ : 
services allow me this reward"" — and for the first time' j 
since she was a girl I kissed her forehe^. i ? 

She was now a beautiful vision to behold as ever- lighted j 
upon the earth. Her armor revealed with exactness the , 
perfection of her form, and to her uncommon beauty’added j 
its own, being of the most brilliant §teel, and frequently 
studded with jewels of dazzling luster. Her sex was re- 
vealed only by her hair, which, parting over her forehead, 
fell toward either eye, and then was drawn up and buried 
in her helmet. The ease with which she moved showed 
how well she had accustomed herself, by frequent exer- 


ZEK’OBIA. 59 

cises, to the cumbrous load she bore. I could hardly be- 
lieve, as she paced the apartment, issuing her final orders 
to her slaves and attendants who pressed around, that I 
was looking upon a woman reared in all the luxury of the 
East. Much as I had been accustomed to the sight of Ze- 
nobia performing the part of an emperor, I found it diffi- 
cult to persuade myself, that when I looked upon Fausta, 
changing so completely her sex, it was anything more than 
an illusion. 

Gracchus and Calpurnius now joined us, each, like 
Eausta, arrayed in the armor of the Queen ^s cavalry. 

“ Fausta,^’ said Gracchus hastily, the hour is come 
that we were at the camp; our horses wait us in the court- 
yard — let us mount. Farewell, Lucius Piso,^^ continued 
he, as we moved toward the rear of the palace; would 
you were to make one of our company; but as that can 
not be, I bequeath to you my place, my honors, and my 
house. Be ready to receive us with large hospitality and a 
philosophical composure, when we return loaded with the 
laurels of victory and the spoils of your countrymen. It is 
fortunate, that as we lose you, we have Calpurnius, who 
seems of the true warrior breed. Fever, Lucius, has my 
eye lighted upon a nobler pair than this. Observe them. 
The Queen, careful of our Fausta, has given her in special 
charge to your brother. I thank her. By his greater 
, activity and my more prudent counsel, I trust to bring her 
again to Palmyra with a fame notTess than Zenobia^s.’’^ 

“I can spare the fame,” I replied, “ so I see her once 
more in Palmyra, herself unharmed and her country at 
peace. ’ ^ 

“ Palmyra would no longer be itself without her,^^ re- 
joined the father. 

We were now in the court-yard, where we found the 
horses fully caparisoned, awaiting their riders. Fausta^s 
was her favorite Arab, of a jet black color and of a fierce 
and fiery temper, hardly to be managed by the Saracen, 
whose. sole office it was to attend upon him; while in the 
hands of Fausta, though still spirited almost to wildness, 
he was yet docile and obedient. Soon as she was mounted, 
although before it had been difficult to hold him, he be- 
came quiet and calm. 

‘‘See the power of woman,” said Gracchus; “were 
Antiochus here, he would look upon this as but another 


60 


ZENOBIA. 


proof that the gods are abandoning Palmyra to the sway of 
women. ^ ^ 

“ It is/^ said Pausta, simply the power of gentleness. 
My Saracen operates through fear, and I through love. My 
hand laid softly upon his neck gains more a thousand fold 
than the lash laid hardly upon his back."’^ 

Mounting my horse, which Milo stood holding for me, 
we then sallied out of the court-yard gate toward the camp. 

The. city itself was all pouring forth upon the plains in 
its vicinity. The crowds choked the streets as they passed 
out, so that our progress was slow. Arriving at length, 
we turned toward the pavilion of the Queen, pitched over 
against the center of the army. There we stood, joined by 
others, awaiting her arrival; for she had not yet left the 
palace. We had not stood long, before the braying of 
trumpets and other warlike instruments announced her 
approach. We turned, and looking toward the gate of 
the city, through which we had but now passed, saw Zeno- 
bia, having on either side Longinus and Zabdas, and pre- 
ceded and followed by a select troop of horse, advancing 
at' her usual speed toward the pavilion. She was mounted 
upon her far-famed white ISumidian, for power an ele- 
phant, for endurance a dromedary, for fleetness a very 
Niccean, and who had been her companion in all the bat- 
tles by which she had gained her renown and her empire. 

Calpurnius was beside himself: he had not before seen 
her when assuming all her state. Did eye ever look upon 
aught so like a celestial apparition.^ It is a descent from 
other regions; I can swear ^tis no mortal — still less a wom- 
an. Tausta, this puts to shame your eulogies, swollen as I 
termed them.'’^ 

I did not wonder at his amazement, for I myself shared 
it, though I had seen her so often. The* object that ap- 
proached us truly seemed rather a moving blaze of light 
than an armed woman, which the eye and the reason declared 
it to be, with such gorgeous magnificence was she arrayed. 
The whole art of the armorer had been exhausted in her 
appointments. The caparison of her steed, sheathed with 
burnished gold, and thick studded with precious stones of 
every various hue, reflected an almost intolerable splendor 
as the rays of a hot morning sun fell upon it. She too 
herself, being clothed in armor of polished steel, whose 
own fiery brightness was doubled by the diamonds— that 


ZENOBIA. 


61 


was the only jewel she wore — sown with profusion all over 
its more prominent parts, could he gazed upon scarcely 
with more ease than the sun himself, whose beams were 
given back from it with undiminished glory. In her right 
hand she held the long slender lance of the cavalry; over 
her shoulders hung a quiver well loaded with arrows, while 
at her side depended a heavy Damascus blade. Her head 
was surmounted by a steel helmet, which left her face 
wholly uncovered, and showed her forehead, like Fausta's 
shaded by the dark hair, which, while it was the only cir- 
cumstance that revealed the woman, added to the effect of 
a countenance unequaled for a marvelous union of femi- 
nine beauty, queenly dignity, and masculine power. Some- 
times it has been her usage, upon such occasions, to appear 
with arms bare and gloved hands; they were now cased, 
like the rest of the body, in plates of steel. 

“ Calpurnius,'’^ said Fausta, “ saw you ever in Persia 
5uch horsemanship? See now, as she draws nearer, with 
what grace and power she moves. Blame you the enthu- 
siasm of this people ?^^ 

“I more than share it,^ he replied; ‘‘it is reward 
enough for my long captivity, at last to follow such a 
leader. Many a time, as Zenobia has in years past visited 
my dreams, and I almost fancied myself in her train, I lit- 
tle thought that the happiness I now experience was to be- 
come a reality. But hark! how the shout of welcome goes 
up from this innumerable host. 

No sooner was the Queen arrived where we stood, and 
the whole extended lines became aware of her presence, 
than the air was filled with the clang of trumpets and the 
enthusiastic cries of the soldiery, who waved aloft their 
arms and made a thousand expressive signs of most joyful 
greeting. When this hearty salutation, commencing at the 
center, had died away along the wings, stretching one way 
to the walls of the city, and the other toward the desert, 
Zenobia rode up nearer the lines, and being there surround- 
ed by the ranks which were in front, and by a crowd of the 
great officers of the army, spoke to tliem in accordance 
with her custom. Stretching out her hand, as if she 
'would ask the attention of the multitude, a deep silence 
ensued and in a voice clear and strong, she thus addressed 
them: 

“ Men and soldiers of Palmyra! Is this the last time 


62 


ZENOBIA. 


that you are to gather together in this glittering array, and 
go forth as lords of the whole East? Conquerors in so 
many wars, are you now about to make an offering of 
yourselves and your homes to the emperor of Eome? Am 
I, who have twice led you to the gates of Ctesiphon, now to 
be your leader to the footstool of Aurelian? Are you 
thinking of anything but victory? Is there one in all these 
ranks who doubts whether the same fate that once befell 
Probus shall now befall Aurelian? If there be, let him 
stand forth! Let him go and intrench himself within the 
walls of Palmyra. *We want him not. (The soldiers brand- 
ished and clashed their arms.) “ Victory, soldiers, belongs 
to those who believe. Believe that you can do so, and we 
will return with a Pom an army captive at our chariot 
wheels. Who should put trust in themselves, if not the 
men and soldiers of Palmyra? Whose memory is long 
enough to reach backward to a defeat? Wliat was the 
reign of Odenatus but an unbroken triumph? Are you 
now, for the first time, to fly or fall before an enemy? And 
who the enemy? Forget it not — Eome! and Aurelian! the 
greatest empire and the greatest soldier of the world. 
Never before was so large a prize within your reach. Never 
before fought you on a stage with the whole world for 
spectators. Forget not too that defeat will be not only de- 
feat, but ruin! The loss of a battle will be not only so 
many dead and wounded, but the loss of empire! For 
Eome resolves upon our subjugation. We must conquer 
or we must perish, and forever lose our city, our throne, 
and our name. Are you really to write yourselves subjects 
and slaves of Eome! — citizens of a Eoman province? and 
forfeit the proud name of Palmyrene?” (Loud and indig- 
nant cries rose from the surrounding ranks. ) “ If not, you 
have only to remember the plains of Egypt and of Persia; 
and the spirit that burned within your bosoms then will 
save you now, and bring you back to these walls, your 
brows bound about with the garlands of victory. Soldiers! 
strike your tents! and away to the desert!” 

Shouts long and loud, mingled with the clash of arms, 
followed these few words of the Queen. Her own name 
was heard above all. “ Long live the great Zenobia!” ran 
along the ranks from the center to the extremes, and from 
the extremes back again to the center. It seemed as if, 
when her name had once been uttered, they could not 


ZENOBIA. 


. 63 

cease — through the operation of some charm — to repeat it 
again and again, coupled too with a thousand phrases of 
loyalty and affection. 

The Queen, as she ended, turned toward the Pavilion, 
where dismounting she entered, and together with her, her 
counselors, the great officers of the army and empire, her 
family, and friends. Here was passed an hour in the inter- 
change of the words and signs of atfection between those 
who were about to depart upon this uncertain enterprise, 
and those who were to remain. The Queen would fain in- 
spire all with her light, bold, and confident spirit, but it 
could not prevail to banish the fears and sorrows that filled 
many hearts. Julians eyes never moved from her mother^s 
face, or only to rest on Fausta^s, whose hand she held 
clasped in her own. Zenobia often turned toward her with 
a look, in which the melting tenderness of the mother con- 
tended but too successfully with the calm dignity of the 
Queen, and bore testimony to the strong affection working 
at the heart. She would then, saying a word or two, turn 
away again, and mingle with those who made less demand 
upon her sympathies. Livia was ther^too, and the flaxen- 
haired Faustula — Livia, gay even, through excess of life — 
Faustula sad and almost terrified at the scene, and chnging 
to J ulia as to her haven of safety. The Caesars were also 
there, insignificant as always, but the youngest, Vahala- 
thus, armed for the war; the others are not to be drawn 
away from the luxuries and pleasures of the city. Antio- 
chus, sullen and silent, was of the number too, stalking 
with folded arms apart from the company, or else arm in 
arm with one of his own color, and seeming to be there 
rather because he feared to be absent, than because he de- 
rived any pleasure from the scene. It was with an effort, 
and with reluctance that he came forward from his hiding- 

E laces, and with supreme awky^ardness, yet with an air of 
aughtiness and pride, paid his court to the Queen. 

As he retreated from his audience, the Queen’s eye sought 
me, and approaching me she said, ‘ ‘ Piso, I am not prone 
to suspicion, and fear is a stranger to my heart: but 1 am 
told to distrust Antiochus. I have been warned to observe 
him. I can. not now do it, for I depart while he remains 
in Palmyra. It has been thrown out that he has designs 
of a treasonable nature, and that the Princess Julia is con- 
nected with them. He is ap object too contemptible to de- 


64 


ZEXOBIA. 


serve my thought, and I have not been willing so much as 
to name the circumstance to any of the council. He may 
prove an amusing and interesting subject for your specula- 
tion while we are gone.'’ 

This was said in a partly serious, partly trifling vein. I 
answered her, saying, ‘‘ that I could not but fear lest there 
might be more foundation for the warnings that had been 
given her than she was disposed to allow. He was indeed 
insignificant and contemptible in character, but he was 
malignant and restless. Many an insect, otherwise every 
way despicable, is yet armed with a deadly sting. A. swarm 
may conquer even the monarch of the forest. Antiochus, 
mean as he is, may yet inflict a secret and fatal wound; 
and he is not alone; there are those who affect him. I be- 
lieve you have imposed no task which as a Eoman I may 
not innocently perform. 'Rest assured that if watchfulness 
of mine may avert the shadow of an evil from your head, 
it shall not be wanting. I would that you yourself could 
look more seriously upon this information, but I perceive 
you to be utterly incredulous.'’^ 

‘‘ It is so indeed,^’ she replied. “ It were better for me 
perhaps were it otherwise. Had I heeded the rumors 
which reached me of the base Mseonius, Odenatus had nov 
perhaps been alive and at my side. But it is against the 
grain of my nature. I can neither doubt nor fear.’^ 

Sounds from without now indicated that the camp was 
broken up, and the army in motion. The moment of 
separation had come. The Queen hastily approached her 
daughters, and impressing a mother’s kisses upon them, 
turned quickly away, and springing upon her horse was 
soon lost to sight as she made her way through the ranks, 
to assume ' her place at their head. Fausta lingered long 
in the embraces of J ulia, who, to part with her, seemed as 
if about to lose as much mqre as she had lost in Zenobia. 

“ These old friends being now gone, let us,” said the 
Princess, “ who remain, ascend together the walls of the 
city, and from the towers of the gate observe the progress 
of the army so long as it shall remain in sight. ” 

Saying this, we returned to the city, and from the high- 
est part of the walls watched the departing glories of the 
most magnificent military array I had ever beheld. It was 
long after noon before the last of the train of loaded 
elephants sunk below the horizon. I have seen larger 


ZENOBIA. 


/ 65 

armies upon the Danube, and in Gaul: but never/ lave I 
seen one that in all its appointments presented so imposing 
a spectacle. This was partly owing to the greater propor- 
tion of cavalry, and to the admixture of the long lines of 
elephants with their burdens, their towers and litters; but 
more perhaps to the perfectness with which each individual, 
be he on horse or foot, be he servant, slave or master, is 
furnished, respecting both arms, armor, and apparel. 
Julia beheld it, if with sorrow, with pride also. 

‘‘ Between an army like this,"" she said, “ so appointed, 
and so led and inflamed, and another like that of Rome 
coming up under a leader like Aurelian, how sharp and 
deadly must be the encounter! What a multitude of this 
and that living host, now glorious in the blaze of arms, 
and burning with desires of conquest, will fall and perish, 
pierced by weapons, or crushed by elephants, nor ever hear 
the shout of victory! A horrid death, winding up a fever- 
ish dream. And of that number how likely to be Fausta 
and Zenobia!"" 

‘‘Why, sister,"" said Faustula, whom I held, and in 
pointing out to whom the most remarkable objects of the 
strange scene I had been occupied, “ why does our mother 
love to go away and kill the Romans? I am sure she 
would not like to kill you "" — looking up in my face — 
“ and are not you a Roman? She will not let me hurt 
even a little fly or ant, but tells me they feel as much to be 
killed, as if Sapor were to put his. great foot on me and 
tread me into the sand."" 

“ But the Romans,"" said Julia, “ are coming to take 
away our city from us, and perhaps do us a great deal of 
harm, and must they not be hindered?"" 

“ But,"" replied Faustula, “ would they do it if Zenobia 
asked them not to do it? Did you ever know anybody who 
could help doing as she asked them? I wish Aurelian 
could only have come here and heard her speak, and seen 
her smile, and I know he would not have wanted to hurt 
her. If I were a Queen, I would never fight."" 

“ I do not believe you would,"" said I; “you do not 
seem as if you could hurt anybody or anything. "" 

“ And now is not Zenobia better than I? I think per- 
haps she is only going to frighten the Romans, and then 
coming home again. "" 

“ Ob, no — do not think so,"" said Li via; “ has not Zeno- 

3-2dhalf. 


06 


:^EN0BIA. 


bia fought a great many battles before this? If ^ she did 
not fight battles, we should have no city to live in/^ 

‘‘ If it is so good to fight battles, why does she prevpt 
me from quarreling, or even speaking unkindly? I think 
she ought to teach me to fight. I do not believe that men 
or women ought to fight any more than children; and I 
dare say if they first saw and talked with one another before 
they fought, as I am told to do, they never would do it. I 
find that if I talk and tell what I think, then I do not want 
to quarrel. See! is that Zenobia? How bright she shines! 
I wish she would come back. 

‘‘ Wait a little while, and she will come again,"" said 
Livia, ‘‘ and bring Aurelian perhaps with her. Should 
you not like to see Aurelian?"" 

“Ho, I am sure I should not. I do not want to see any 
one that does not love Zenobia."" 

So the little child ran on, often uttering truths, too ob- 
viously truths for mankind to be governed by them, yet 
containing the best philosophy of life. Truth and happi- 
ness are both within easy reach. We miss them because 
they are so near. We look over them, and grasp at distant 
and more imposing objects, wrapped in the false charms 
which distance lends. 

During the absence of the Queen and Hausta, we have, 
in agreement with the promise we made, repeated our visit 
more than once to the retreat of the Christian Hermit; 
from whom I have drawn almost all that remains to be 
known, concerning the truths of his religion. Both Julia 
and Livia have been my companions. Of the conversa- 
tions at these visits, I shall hope at some future time to 
furnish you with full accounts. 

In the meanwhile. Farewell. 


LETTEK XIII. 

These few days having passed in the manner I have de- ' 
scribed, our impatience has been relieved by news from the • 
West. We learn that Aurelian, having appointed lllyricum ; 
as the central point for assembling his forces, has, march- . 
ing thence through Thrace, and giving battle on the way i 
to the Goths, at length reached Byzantium, whence cross- i 
ing the Bosphorus, it is his purpose to subdue the Asiatic - 


ZENOBIA. 


67 

provinces, and afterward advance toward Palmyra. The 
army of the Queen, judging by the last accounts received 
by her messengers, must now have reached the 'neiKhbor- 
hoodof Antioch, and there already perhaps have encoun- 
tered tho forces of tlie Emperor. 

length to put on the appearance of 
^ose who feel that something of value is at stake. The 
i ortico IS forsaken, or frequented only by such as hope to 
near news by going there. The streets are becoming silent 
and solitary. I myself partake of the general gloom. I 
am often at the palace and at the house of Longinus. The 
d welling, or rather should I not term it the spacious palace 
of the minister, affords me delightful hours of relaxation 
and instruction, as I sit and converse with its accomplished 
lord, or wander among the compartments of his vast 
library, or feast the senses and imagination upon the choice 
specimens of sculpture and painting, both ancient and 
modern, which axiom the walls, the ceilings, the stairways 
and, indeed, every part of the extensive interior. Here I 
succeed in forgetting the M^orld and all its useless troubles, 
and am fairly transported into those regions of the fancy' 
where the airs are always soft and the skies serene, wherd 
want is unknown, and solicitations to vice come not, 
where men are just and true and kind, and women the 
goddesses _ we make them in our dreams, and the whole of 
existence is a calm summer’s day, without storm of the in- 
ward or outward world. And when upon these delicious 
moments the philosopher himself breaks in, the dream is 
not dissolved, but stands rather converted to an absolute 
reality, for it then shines with the actual presence of a god. 

It is with unwillingness that I acknowledge my real state, 
and consent to return to this living world of anxieties and 
apprehensions in which I now dwell. 


I am just returned from the palace and the Princess 
Julia. AVhile there seated in conversation with her, Lon- 
ginus, and Livia, a courier was suddenly announced from 
Zenobia. He entered, woe stamped upon his features, and 
delivered letters into the hands of Longinus. Alas! Alas! 
for Palmyra. The intelligence is of disaster and defeat! 
The countenance of the Greek grew pale as he read. He 
placed the dispatches in silence in the hands of Julia, hav- 
ing finished them, and hastily withdrew, 


68 


ZENOBIA. 


The sum of the news is this. A battle has been fought 
before Antioch, and the forces of the Queen completely 
routed. It appears that upon the approach of Aurelian, 
the several provinces of Asia Minor, which by negotiation 
and conquest had by Zenobia been connected with her 
kingdom, immediately returned to their former allegiance. 
The cities opened their gates and admitted the armies of the 
conqueror. Tyana alone of all. the Queen^s dominions in 
that quarter opposed the progress of the Emperor, and this 
stronghold was soon by treachery delivered into his power. 
Thence he pressed on without pause to Antioch, where he 
found the Queen awaiting him. A battle immediately en- 
sued. At first, the Queen's forces obtained decided ad- 
vantages, and victory seemed ready to declare for her as 
always before, when the gods decreed otherwise, and the 
day was lost — but lost, in the indignant language of the 
Queen, ‘‘ not in fair and honorable fight, but through the 
baseness of a stratagem rather to have been expected from 
a Carthaginian than the great Aurelian." 

‘‘ Our troops," she writes, ‘‘ had driven the enemy from 
his ground at every point. Notwithstanding the presence 
of Aurelian, and the prodigies of valor by which he distin- 
guished himself anew, and animated his soldiers, our cav- 
alry, led by the incomparable Zabdas, bore him and his 
legions backward, till apparently discomfited by the vio- 
lence of the onset, the Eoman horse gave way and fled in 
all directions. The shout of victory arose from our ranks, 
which now broke, and in the disorder of a flushed and con- 
quering army, scattered in hot pursuit of the flying foe. 
Now, when too late, we saw the treachery of the enemy. 
Our horse, heavy-armed as you know, were led on by the 
retreating Romans into a broken and marshy ground, 
where their movements were in every way impeded, and 
thousands were suddenly fixed immovable in the deep 
morass. At this moment, the enemy, by preconcerted sig- 
nals, with inconceivable rapidity, being light -armed, 
formed; and, returning upon our now scattered forces, 
made horrible slaughter of all who had pushed furthest 
from the main body of the army. Dismay seized our sol- 
diers, the panic spread, increased by the belief that a fresh 
army had* come up and was entering the field, and our 
whole duty centered in forming and covering our retreat. 
TliiS; chiefly through the conduct of Oalpurnius Riso, was 


ZEKOBIA. 


69 


safely effected; the Romans being kept at bay while we 
drew together, and then under cover of the aj)proaching 
ni^ht fell back to a new and strong position. 

‘‘I attempt not, Longinus, to make that better which is 
bad.^ I reveal the whole truth, not softening • nor with- 
holding a single feature of it, that your mind may be pos- 
sessed of the exact state of our affairs, and know how to 
form its judgments. Make that which I write public, to 
the extent and in the manner that shall seem best to you. 

After mature deliberation, we have determined to re- 
treat further yet, and take up our position under the walls 
of Emesa. Here, I trust in the gods, we shall redeem 
that which we have lost.''^ 

In a letter to Julia the Queen says, ‘‘ Fausta has escaped 
the dangers of the battle; selfishly perhaps dividing her 
from Piso, she has shared my tent and my fortunes, and 
has proved herself worthy of every confidence that has been 
reposed in her. She is my inseparable companion in the 
tent, in the field, and on the road, by night and by day. 
Give not way to despondency, dear Julia. Fortune, which 
has so long smiled upon me, is not now about to forsake 
me. There is no day so long and bright that clouds do not 
sail by and cast their little shadows. But the sun is be- 
. hind them. Our army is still great and in good heart. 
The soldiers receive me, whenever I appear, with their cus- 
tomary acclamations. Fausta sliares this enthusiasm. 
Wait without anxiety or fear for news from Emesa.'’'’ 

When we had perused and re-perused the dispatches of 
the Queen, and were brooding in no little despondency over 
their contents, Longinus re-entering said to me, 

‘‘ And what, Piso, may I ask, is your judgment of the 
course which Aurelian will now pursue? I see not that I 
can offend in asking, or you in answering. I have hereto- 
fore inclined to the belief that Rome, having atoned her 
injured honor by a battle, would then prefer to convert - 
Palmyra into a useful ally, by the proposal of terms whicli 
she could accept; terms which would leave her an inde- 
pendent existence as formerly, in friendly alliance with, 
though in no sense subject to Rome. But neither preced- 
ing the battle at Antioch, nor since, does it appear that 
terms have been so much as proposed or discussed. I can 
hardly believe that Aurelian, even if victory should continue 
to sit upon his eagles, would desire to drive the Queen to 


70 


ZEI^TOBIA. 


extremities, and convert this whole peoj)le into a united 
and infuriated enemy. If he be willing to do this, he little 
understands the best interests of Rome, and proves only 
this, that though he may be a good soldier, he is a bad sov- 
ereign, arid really betrays his country while achieving the 
most brilliant victories. 

‘‘lam obliged to say,"^ I replied, “ that I have wavered 
in my judgment. Sometimes, when I have thought of 
policy, or the past services of Palmyra, and of Persia, I 
have deemed it hardly possible that Aurelian should have 
had any other purpose in this expedition than to negotiate 
with Zenobia, under the advantages of an armed force; 
that at the most and worst, a single battle would suffice, 
and the differences which exist be then easily adjusted. 
But then, when again I have thought of the character of 
Aurelian, I have doubted these conclusions, and believed 
that conquest alone will satisfy him; and that he will never 
turn back till he can call Palmyra a Roman province. 
From what has now transpired at Antioch, and especially 
from what has not transpired, I am strengthened in this 
last opinion. One or the other must fall. I believe it 
has come to this. 

“ One or the other may fall at Emesa,^^ said Li via, 
“but no power can ever force the walls of Palmyra. 

“ I am ready to believe with you. Princess,^’ said Lon- 
ginus, “ but I trust never to see a Roman army before 
them. Yet if your last judgment of Aurelian be the true 
one, Piso, it may happen. We are not a power to pour 
forth the hordes of Rome or Germany. We have valor, 
but not numbers. 

“ Ought not,^^ said Julia, “ every provision to be made, 
even though there be but the remotest possibility of the 
city sustaining a siege 

“ The most fruitful imagination,^^ replied Longinus, 
“ could hardly suggest a single addition to what is already 
done, to render Palmyra impregnable. And long before 
the food now within the walls could be exhausted, any 
army, save one of Arabs of the desert, lying before them, 
must itself perish. But these things the council and sen- 
ate will maturely weigh. 

Longinus departed. 

At the same moment that he left the apartment, that 
Indian slave whom I have often seen sitting at the feet of 


ZEKOBIA. 


71 

the Queen entered where we were, and addressing a few 
words to the Princess Julia again retreated. I could not 
hut remark again, what I had remarked before, her grace- 
ful beauty, and especially the symmetry of her form and 
elasticity of her step. There was now also an expression 
in the countenance which, notwithstanding its dark beauty, 
I liked not, as I had often before liked it not, when I had 
seen her in the presence of Zenobia. 

‘‘ Princess, said I, “ is the slave who has just departed 
sincere in her attachment to Zenobia?^ ^ 

“I can not doubt it,^"" she replied; “ at least I have ob- 
served nothing to cause me to doubt it. Tliiiiking herself 
injured and degraded by Zenobia, she may perhaps feel 
toward her as the captive feels toward the conqueror. But 
if this be so, the lip breathes it not. To the Queen she is, 
as far as the eye may judge, fondly attached, and faithful 
to the trusts reposed in her.^^ 

‘‘ But why,^^ I asked, ‘‘ thinks she herself injured and 
degraded? is she not what she seems to be, a slave ?^^ 

‘ She is a slave by the chances of fortune and war, not 
by descent or purchase. She was of the liousehold of Sapor, 
when his tents, wives and slaves fell into the hands of 
Odenatus, and by him, as we learned, had been taken in 
his wars with an Indian nation. In her own country she 
was a princess, and were she now there, were queen. 
Zenobia ^s pride is gratified by using her for the purposes 
she does, nor has it availed to intercede in her behalf. 
Yet has it always seemed as if a strong attachment drew 
the fair slave to our mother, and sure I am that Zenobia 
greatly esteems her, and, save in one respect, maintains 
and holds her rather as an equal than inferior. We all 
love her. Others beside yourself have questioned her truth, 
but we have heeded them not. Upon what, may I ask, 
have you founded a doubt of her sincerity ?^^ 

“ I can scarcely say,^"* I rejoined, ‘‘ that I have gromid 
to doubt her sincerity. Indeed, I know nothing of her but 
what you have now rehearsed, except that, a few days since, 
as I retired from the palace, I observed her near the eastern 
gate in earnest conversation with Antiochus. Soon as her 
eye caught me, although at a great distance, she hastily 
withdrew into the palace, while Antiochus turned toward 
the neighboring street. 

Julia smiled. “ Ah,^'’ said she, ‘‘ our cousin Antiochus, 


72 


ZEKOBIA. 


were he to lose all hope of me^, would hasten to throw him- 
self at the feet of the beautiful Sindarina. When at the 
palace, his eyes can hardly he drawn from her face. I 
have been told he exalts her above her great mistress. 
Were Antiochus king, I can hardly doubt that Sindarina 
were queen. His visit to the palace must have been to her 
alone. Livia, have you received liim since the departure of 
Zenobia?^-’ 

Her sister had not seen him. I said no more. But never 
have I read aright the human countenance, if in her there 
be not hidden designs of evil. I knew not before this inter- 
view her history. This supplies a motive for a treacherous 
t^rn, if by it her freedom or her fortune might be 
achieved. I have mentioned my suspicions to Longinus, 
but he sees nothing in them. 

The intelligence thus received from Antioch has effectu- 
ally sobered the giddy citizens of Palmyra. They are now 
of opinion that war really exists, and that they are a party 
concerned. The merchants, who are the princes of the 
place, perceiving their traffic to decline or cease, begin to 
interest themselves in the affairs of the state. So long as 
wealth flowed in as ever, and the traders from India and 
Persia saw no obstruction in the state of things to a safe 
transaction of their various businesses and transportation 
of their valuable commodities, the merchants left the state 
to take care of itself, and whatever opinions they held, ex- 
pressed them only in their own circles, thinking but of ac- 
cumulation by day, and of ostentatious expenditure by 
night. I have often heard that their general voice, had 
it been raised, would have been hostile to the policy 
that has prevailed. But it was not raised; and now, when 
too late, and these mercenary and selfish beings are driven 
to some action by the loss of their accustomed gains, a 
large and violent party is forming among them, who loudly 
condemn the conduct of the Queen and her ministers, and 
advocate immediate submission to whatever terms Aurelian 
may impose. This party, however, powerful though it may 
be through wealth, is weak in numbers. The people are 
opposed to them, and go enthusiastically with the Queen, 
and do not scruple to exult in the distresses of the mer- 
chants. Their present impotence is but a just retribution 
upon them for their criminal apathy during the early stages 


ZEJ^OBIA. 


73 


of the difficulty. Then had they taken a part as tliey ought 
to have done in the public deliberations, the rupture which 
has ensued might, it is quite likely, have been prevented. 
Iheir voice would have been a loud and strong one, and 
would have been heard. They deserve to lose their liber- 
ties, who will not spare time from selfish pursuits to guard 
them. Where a government is popular, even to no greater 
extent than this, it behooves every individual, if he values 
the power delegated to liim and would retain it, to use it, 
otherwise it is by degrees and insensibly lost: and once 
absorbed into the hands of the few, it is not easily, if at 
all, to be recovered. 


Nothing can exceed the activity displayed on all hands in 
every preparation which the emergency demands. New 
levies of men are making, and a camp again forming to 
Queen, at Nmesa, or in its neighborhood, if 
she should not be compelled to. retire upon Palmyra. In 
the meantime, we wait with beating hearts for the next ar- 
rival of couriers. 


After an anxious suspense of several days all my worst 
apprehensions are realized. Messengers have arrived, an- 
nomicing the defeat of Zenobia before the walls of Emesa, 
and with them fugitives from the conquered army are 
pouring in. Every hour now do we expect the appioach of 
the Queen, with the remnant of her forces. Our intelli- 
gence is in tlie hand of Zenobia herself. She has written 
thus to her minister: 

Septimia Zenobia to Dionysius Longinus. I am again 
defeated. Our cavalry were at first victorious, as before 
at Antioch. The Koman horse were routed. But the in- 
fantry of Aurelian, in number greatly surperior to ours, 
falling upon our ranks when deprived of the support of the 
cavalry, obtained an easy victory; while their horse, rally- 
ing and increased by re-enforcements from Antioch, drove 
us in turn at all points, penetrating even to our camp, and 
completed the disaster of the day. I have now no power 
with which to cope with Aurelian. It remains but to re- 
treat upon Palmyra, there placing our reliance upon the 
strength of our walls, and upon our Armenian, Saracen, 
and Persian allies. I do not despair, although the favor of 
the gods seems withdrawn. Farewell."^ 


74 


ZENOBIA. 


The city is in the utmost consternation. All power seems 
paralyzed. The citizens stand together in knots at the 
corners of the streets, like persons struck dumb, and with- 
out command of either their bodies or their minds. The 
first feeling was, and it was freely expressed, ‘‘ To contend 
further is hopeless. The army is destroyed; another can 
not now be recruited; and if it could, before it were 
effected, Aurelian would be at the gates with his countless 
legions, and the city necessarily surrender. We must now 
make the best terms we can, and receive passively condi- 
tions which we can no longer oppose. 

But soon other sentiments took the place of these, and 
being urged by those who entertained them, with zeal, they 
have prevailed. 

“ Why,^^ they have urged, “ should we yield before that 
becomes the only alternative? At present we are secure 
within the walls of our city, which may well defy all the 
power of a besieging army. Those most skilled in such 
matters, and who have visited the places in the world 
deemed most impregnable, assert that the defenses of 
Palmyra are perfect, and surpassed by none; and that any 
army, whether a Roman or any other, must perish before 
it would be possible either to force our gates or reduce us 
by hunger. Besides, what could we expect by submitting 
to the conqueror, but national extinction? Our city would 
be pillaged; our principal citizens murdered; perhaps a 
general slaughter made of the inhabitants, without regard 
to age or sex. The mercies of Rome have ever been cruel; 
and Aurelian we know to be famed for the severity of his 
temper. No commander of modern times has instituted so 
terrible a discipline in his army, and Rome itself has felt 
the might of his iron hand; it is always on his sword. 
What can strangers, foreigners, enemies, and rebels, as he 
regards us, expect? And are the people of Palmyra ready 
to abandon their Queen? to whom we owe all this great 
prosperity, this wide renown, this extended empire? But for 
Zenobia we were now what we were so many ages, a petty 
trading village, a community of money-makers, hucksters 
and barterers, without arts, without science, without fame, 
destitute of all that adorns and elevates a people. Zenobia 
has raised us to empire; it is Zenobia who has, made us 
the conquerors of Persia, and the rival of Rome. Shame 
on those who will desert her! Shame on those who will 


ZEKOBIA. 


75 

distrust a genius that has hitherto shone with greater luster 
in proportion to the difficulties that have opposed it! Who 
I can doubt that by lending her all our energies and means, 
she will yet triumph? Shame and death to the enemies of 
the Queen and the State 

Sentiments like these are now everywhere heard, and the 
courage and enthusiasm of the people are rising again. 
Those who are for war and resistance are always the popu- 
lar party. There is an instinctive love of liberty and 
power, and a horror at the thought of losing them, that 
come to the aid of the weak, and often cause them to resist, 
i under circumstances absolutely desperate. Palmyra is not 
I weak, but to one who contemplates both parties, and com- 
I pares their relative strength, it is little short of madness to 
I hope to hold out. with ultimate success against the power 
of Pome. But such is the determination of the great body 
of the people. And the Queen, when she shall approach 
I with her broken and diminished, and defeated army, will 
ineet the welcome of a conqueror. Never before in the 
history of the world, was there so true-hearted a devotion 
of a whole people to the glory, interests, and happiness of 
One — and never was such devotion so deserved. 

The Princess Julia possesses herself like one armed for 
such adversities, not by nature, but by reflection and 
philosophy. She was designed for scenes of calmness and 
peace: but she has made herself equal to times of difficulty, 
tumult and danger. She shrinks not from the duties which 
her station now imposes upon her; but seems like one who 
possesses resolution enough to reign with the vigor and 
power of Zenobia. Her two brothers, who have remained 
in the city, Herennianus and Tinolaus, leave all affairs of 
state to her and the council; they preferring the base pleas- 
ures of sensuality, in which they wallow day and night in 
company with Antiochus and his crew. If a deep depres- 
sion is sometimes seen to rest upon her spirit, it comes 
: rather when she thinks of her mother, than of herself. She 
experiences already, through her lively sympathies, the 
grief that will rage in the soul of Zenobia, should fortune 
dei^rive her of her crown. 

“ Zenobia, she has said to me, “ Zpnobia can not de- 
scend from a throne, 'without suffering such as common 
souls can not conceive. A goddess driven from heaven 
, and the company of the gods could not endure more. To 


76 


ZEKOr.IA. 


possess and to exercise power is to her heaven ; to he de- 
spoiled of it, Tartarus and death. She was born for a 
throne, though not on one; and how she graces it, you and 
the world have seen. She will display fortitude under ad- 
versity and defeat, I am sure, and to the common eye, the 
same soul, vigorous with all its energies, will aiDpear to 
preside over her. But the prospect or expectation of a 
fall from her high place will rack with torments such as 
no mortal can hope to assuage. To witness her grief, with- 
out the power to relieve — I can not bear to think of it V ^ 

In Li via there is more of the mother. She is proud, im- 
perious, and ambitious, in a greater measure even than 
Zenobia. Young as she is, she believes herself of a different 
nature from others; she born to rule, others to serve. It 
is not the idea of her country and its renown that fills and 
sways her, but of a throne and its attendant glories. So 
she could reign a Queen, with a Queen ^s state and homage, it 
would matter little to her whether it were in Persia or 
Palmyra. Yet with those who are her equals is she free, 
and even sportive, light of heart, and overflowing with ex- 
cess of life. Her eye burns with the bright luster of a 
star, and her step is that of the mistress of a world. She 
is not terrified at the prospect before her, for her confident 
and buoyant spirit looks down all opposition, and predicts 
a safe egress from the surrounding peril, and an ascent, 
through this very calamity itself, to a position more illus- 
trious still. 

“ Julia,^^ said she, on one occasion of late, while I sat a 
listener, “ supposing that the people of Palmyra should set 
aside our renowned brothers, and again prefer a woman^s 
sway, would not you renounce your elder right in favor of 
me? I do not think you would care to be a Queen 

‘‘ That is true,^^ replied Julia, “ I should not care to 
be a Queen; and yet, I believe I should reign, that you 
might not. Though I covet not the exercise of power, I 
believe I should use it more wisely than you would, who 
do.^^ 

“ I am sure,^^ said Livia, “ I feel within me that very 
superiority to others, which constitutes the royal charac- 
ter, and would fit me eminently to reign. He can not be 
a proper slave who has not the soul of a slave. Neither 
can he reign well who has not the soul of a monarch. I 
am suited to a throne, just as others are by the providence 


ZEI^OBIA. 


77 


of the gods suited to uphold the tlii*one, and be the slaves ^ 
ofit/^ 

“ \yere you Queen, Livia, it would be for your own sake; 
to enjoy the pleasures which as you imagine accompany 
that state, and exercise over others the powers with which 
you were clothed, and receive the homage of dependent 
subjects. Your own magnificence and luxurious state 
would be your principal thought. Is that being suited to a 
throne?^"’ 

But,^-’ said Livia, “ I should not be guilty of inten- 
tional wrong toward any. So long as my people obeyed 
my laws and supported my government, there would be 
no causes of difficulty. But surely, if there were resist- 
ance, and any either insulted or opposed my authority, it 
would be a proper occasion for violent measures. lYr 
there must be some to govern as well as others to obey. 
All can not rule. Government is founded in necessity. 
Kings and queens are of nature^ s making. It would be 
right then to use utmost severity toward such as ceased to 
obejq as the slave his master. How could the master ob- 
tain the service of the slave, if there were not reposed in 
him power to punish? Shall the master of millions have 
less?^^ 

“ Dear Livia, your principles are suited only to some 
Persian despotism. You very soberly imagine, unless you 
jest, that governments exist for the sake of those who gov- 
ern — that kings and queens are the objects for which gov- 
ernments are instituted. 

“ Truly, it is very much so. Otherwise what would the 
king or queen of an empire be but a poor official, main- 
tained in a sort of state by the people, and paid by them 
for the discharge of a certain set of duties which must be 
performed by some one; but who possesses, in fact, no 
will nor power of his own; rather the servant of the people 
than their master 

“ I think,-’ ^ replied Julia, you have given a very just 
definition of the imperial office. A king, queen, or em- 
peror, is indeed the servant of the people. He exists not 
for his own pleasure or glory, but for their good. Else 
he is a tyrant, a despot —not a sovereign. 

‘‘ It is then,^’ said Livia, “ only a tyrant or a despot that 
I would consent to be. Not in any bad meaning of the 
terms; for you know, Julia, that I could not be cruel nor 


78 


2EKOJ5IA. 


• unjust. But unless I could reign, as one independent of 
my people, and irresponsible to them; not in name only, 
but in reality above them; receiving the homage due to the 
queenly character'and office — I would not reign at all. To 
sit upon a throne, a mere painted puppet, shaken by the 
breath of everv conceited or discontented citizen, a butt for 
every shaft to*ny at, a mere hireling, a slave in a queen^s 
robe, the mouth-piece for others to speak by and proclaim 
their laws, with no will nor power of my own — no, no! It 
is not such that Zenobia is. '^ 

• “ She is more than that indeed,^^ replied Julia; ‘‘ she is 
in some sense a despot; her will is sovereign in the state; 
she is an absolute prince in fact; but it is through the 
force of her own character and virtues, not by the consent 
and expressed allowance of her subjects. Her genius, her 
goodness, her justice, and her services, have united to con- 
fer upon her tins dangerous pre-eminence. But who else, 
with power such as her&, would reign as she has reigned.^ 
An absolute will, guided by perfect wisdom and goodness, 
constitutes I indeed believe the simplest and best form of 
human government. It is a copy of that of the universe, 
under the providence of the gods. But an absolute will 
moved only or chiefly by the selfish love of regal state and 
homage, or by a very defective wisdom and goodness, is on 
the other hand the very worst form of human government. 
You would make an unequaled queen, Livia, if to act the 
queen were all; if you were but to sit and receive the wor- 
ship of the slaves, your subjects. As you sit now, I can 
almost believe you Queen of the East! Janos’s air was not 
more iniperial, nor the beauty of Venus more enslaving. 
Piso will not dissent from what I began with, or now end 
with.^^ 

“ I think you have delivered a true doctrine,^ ^ I replied; 
“ but which few who have once tasted of power will admit. 
Liberty would be in great danger were Livia queen. Her 
subjects would be too willing to forget their rights, through 
a voluntary homage to her queenly character and state. 
Their chains would however be none the less chains, that 
they were voluntarily assumed. -That indeed is the most 
dangerous slavery which men impose upon themselves, for 
it does not bear the name of slavery, but some other; yet 
as it is real, the character of the slave is silently and un- 
consciously formed, and then unconsciously transmitted. "" 


ZEN-OBIA. 


79 ' 


‘‘I perceive/^ said Livia, what you philosophers 
urge be true, that I am rather meant by nature for a Per- 
sian or a Roman throne than any other. I would be abso- 
lute, though it were over but a village. A divided and im- 
perfect power I would not accept, though it were over the 
world. But the gods grant it loilg ere any one be called 
in Palmyi’a to fill the place of Zenobia!^^ 

“ Happy were it for mankind, said Julia, “ could she 
live and reign forever. 

Thus do all differences cease and run into harmony at 
the name of Zenobia. 

Every hour do we look for the arrival of the army. 

As I sit writing at my open window, overlooking the 
street and spacious courts of the Temple of Justice, I am 
conscious of an unusual disturbance — the people at a dis- 
tance are running in one direction — the clamor approaches 
— and now I hear the cries of the multitude. “ The Queen! 
the Queen 

I fiy to the walls. 

I resume my pen. The alarm was a true one. Upon 
gaining the streets, I found the populace all pouring 
toward the Gate of the Desert, in which direction, it was 
affirmed the Queen was making her approach. Upon 
reaching it, and ascending one of its lofty towers, I beheld 
from the verge of the horizon to within a mile of the walls, 
the whole plain filled with the scattered forces of Zenobia, 
a cloud of dust resting over the whole, and marking out 
the extent of ground they covered. As * the advanced de- 
• tachments drew near, how different a spectacle did they 
present from that bright morning, when glittering in steel, 
and full of the fire of expected victory, they proudly took 
their way toward the places from which they now were 
returning, a conquered, spoiled, and dispirited remnant, 
covered with the dust of a long march, and wearily drag- 
ging their limbs beneath the rays of a burning sun. 
Yet was there order and military discipline preserved, even 
under circumstances so depressing, and which usually are 
an excuse for their total relaxation. It was the silent, dis- 
mal march of a funeral train, rather than the hurried flight 
cf 2. routed and discomfited army. There was the stiff and 


80 


ZEN^OBIA. 


formal military array, but the life and spirit of an elated 
and proud soldiery were gone. They moved with meth(yi 
to the sound of clanging instruments, and the long, shrill 
blast of the trumpet, but they moved as mourners. They 
seemed as if they came to bury their Queen. 

Yet the scene changed to a brighter aspect, as the army 
drew nearer and nearer to the walls, and the city throwing 
open her gates, the populace burst forth, and with loud 
and prolonged shouts, welcomed them home. These shouts 
sent new life into the hearts of the desponding ranks, and 
with brightened faces and a changed air they waved their 
arms and banners, and returned shout for shout. As they 
passed through the gates to the ample quarters provided 
within the walls, a thousand phrases of hearty greeting 
were showered down upon them, from those who lined the 
walls, the towers, and the way-side, which seemed, from 
the effects produce in those on whom they fell, a more ' 
quickening restorative than could have been any medicine 
or food that had ministered only to the body. 

The impatience of the multitude to behold and receive 
the Queen was hardly to be restrained from breaking forth 
in some violent w^ay. They were ready to rush upon the 
great avenue, bearing aside the troops, that they might the 
sooner greet her. When, at length, the center of the army 
approached, and. the armed chariot appeared in which 
Zenobia sat, the enthusiasm of the people knew no bounds. 
They broke through all restraint, and with cries that filled 
the heavens, pressed toward her — the soldiers catching the 
frenzy and joining them — and quickly detaching the 
horses from her carriage, themselves drew her into the city 
just as if she had returned victor with Aurelian in her 
train. There was no language of devotion and loyalty that 
did not meet her ear, nor any sign of affection that could 
be made from any distance, from the plains, the walls, the 
gates, the higher buildings of the city, the roofs of which 
were thronged, that did not meet her eye. It was a testi- 
mony of love so spontaneous and universal, a demonstra- 
tion of confidence and unshaken attachment so hearty and 
sincere, that Zenobia was more than moved by it, she was 
subdued — and she who, by her people, had never before 
been seen to weep, bent her head and buried her face in her 
hands. 

AYith what an agony of expectation, while this scene was 


ZEKOKIA. 


81 


passing, did I await the appearance of Fausta, and Grac- 
chus, and Calpurnius — if, indeed, I were destined ever to 
see them again. I waited long, and with pain, but the 
gods be praised, not in vain, nor to meet with iisappoint- 
ment only. Not far in the rear of Zenobia, at the head of 
a squadron of cavalry, rode, as my eye distinctly informed 
me, those whom I sought. No sooner did they in turn 
approach the gates, than almost the same welcome that 
had been lavished upon Zenobia, was repeated for Fausta, 
Gracchus, and Calpurnius. The names of Calpurnius 
and Fausta — of Calpurnius, as he who had saved the army 
at Antioch, of Fausta as the intrepid and fast friend of the 
Queen, were especially heard from a thousand lips, joined 
with every title of honor. My voice was not wanting in 
the loud acclaim. It reached the ears of Fausta, who, 
starting and looking upward, caught my eye just as she 
.passed beneath the arch of the gate-way. I then descended 
from my tower of observation, and joined the crowds who 
thronged the close ranks, as they filed along the streets of 
the city. I pressed upon the steps of my friends, never 
being able to keep my eyes from the forms of those I loved 
so well, whom I had so feared to lose, and so rejoiced to 
behold returned alive and unhurt. 

All day the army has continued pouring into the city, 
and beside the army greater crowds still of the inhabitants 
of the suburbs, who, knowing that before another day shall 
end, the Eomans may encamp before the walls, are scatter- 
ing in all directions — multitudes taking refuge in the city, 
but greater numbers still, mounted upon elephants, camels, 
dromedaries and horses, flying into the country to the 
north. The whole region as far as the eye can reach, 
seems in commotion, as if society were dissolved, and 
breaking up from its foundations. The noble and the rich, 
whose means are ample, gather together their valuables, 
and with their children and friends seek the nearest parts 
of Mesopotamia, where they will remain in safety till the 
siege shall be raised. The poor, and such as can not reach 
the Euphrates, flock into the city, bringing with them 
what little of provisions or money they may possess, and 
are quartered upon the inhabitants, or take up a temporary 
abode in the open squares, or in the courts and porticoes of 
palaces and temples — ^the softness and serenity of the 
climate rendering even so much as the shelter of a tent 


83 


ZENOBIA. 


superfluous. But by this vast influx the population of the 
city can not be less than doubled, and I should tremble for 
the means of subsistence for so large a multitude, did I not 
know the inexhaustible magazines of grain, laid up by the 
prudent foresight of the Queen, in anticipation of the possi- 
ble occurrence of the emergency which has now arrived. A 
long time — longer than he himself would be able to subsist 
his army— must Aurelian lie before Palmyra ere he can 
hope to reduce it by famine. What impression his engines 
may be able to make upon the walls, remains to be seen. 
Periander pronounces the city impregnable. My own 
Judgment, formed upon a comparison of it with the cities 
most famous in the world for the strength of their defenses, 
would agree with his. 

Following on in the wake of the squadron to which 
Fausta was attached, I wished to reach the camp at the 
same time with herself and Gracchus and my brother, but’ 
owing to the press in the streets, arising from the causes 
Just specified, I was soon separated from, and lost sight of 
it. Desirous however to meet them, I urged my way 
along with much labor till I reached the quarter of the 
’ city assigned to the troops, where I found the tents and 
the open ground already occupied. I sought in vain for 
Fausta. While I waited, hoping still to see her, I stood 
leaning upon a pile of shields, which the soldiers, throwing 
off their arms, had Just made, and watching them as they 
were, some disencumbering themselves of their armor, 
others unclasping the harness of their horses, others ar- 
ranging their weapons into regular forms, and others, hav- 
ing gone through their first tasks, were stretching them- 
selves at rest beneath the shadow of their tents, or of some 
branching tree. Near me sat a soldier, who, apparently 
too fatigued to rid himself of his heavy armor, had thrown 
himself upon the ground, and was Just taking off his hel- 
met, and wiping the dust and sweat from his face, while a 
little boy, observing his wants, ran to a neighboring fount- 
ain, and filling a vessel with water, returned and held it 
to him, saying, “ Drink, soldier; this will make you 
stronger than your armor. 

‘‘You little traitor,^ ^ said the soldier, “art not 
ashamed to bring drink to me, who have helped to betray 
the eity? Beware, or a sharp sword will eut you in two. " 

“ I thought, replied the child, nothing daunted, “ that 


ZENOBIA. 


83 

you were a soldier of Palmyra, wlio had been to fight the 
Romans. But whoever you may be, I am sure you need 
the water. 

“But,” rejoined the soldier, swallowing at long 
draughts as if it had been nectar, the cooling drink, “do 
I deserve water, or any of these cowards here, who have 
been beaten by the Romans, and so broken the heart of our 
; good Queen, and possibly lost her her throne? Answer me 
i that. 

I “ You have done what you could, I know,"" replied the 
. boy, “ because you are a Palmyrene, and who can do 
more? I carry round the streets of the city in this palm- 
leaf basket, date-cakes, wliich I sell to those who love 
them. But does my mother blame me because I do not 
always come home with an empty basket? I sell what I 
can. Should I be punished for doing what I can not?’" 

“ Get you gone, you rogue,"" replied the soldier; “you 
talk hke a Christian boy, and they have a new way of re- 
turning good for evil But here, if you have cakes in your 
basket, give me one and I will give you a penny all the 
way from Antioch. See! there is the head of Aurelian on 
it. Take care he don"t eat you up — or at least your cakes. 
But hark you, little boy, do you see yonder that old man 
with a bald head, leaning against his shield? go to him with 
your cakes. ’" 

The boy ran off. 

“ Friend,"" said I, addressing him, “ your march has not 
lost you your spirits; you can jest yet. "" 

“ Truly I can. If the power to do that were gone, then 
were all lost. A good jest in a time of misfortune is food 
and drink. It is strength to the arm; digestion to the 
stomach, courage to the heart. It is better than wisdom 
or wine. A prosperous man may afford to be melancholy, 
but if the miserable are so, they are worse than dead — but 
it is sure to kill them. Near me I had a comrade wdiose 
wit it was alone that kept life in me upon the desert. All 
the way from Emesa, had it not been for the tears of 
laughter, those of sorrow and shame would have killed 
me."" 

“ But in the words of the little cake urchin, you did 
what you could. The fates were opposed to you."" 

' “If all had done as much and as well as some, we would 
have had the fates in our own keeping. Had it not been 


ZENOBIA. 


84 

for that artifice of tlie Eoinans at Antioch, we had noW 
been rather in Rome than here, and it was a woman or j 
girl, rather, as I am told— the daughter of Gracchus, who 
first detected the cheat, and strove to save the army, but it 
was too late. 

‘‘ Were you near her?^^ 

Was I not? Not the great Zabdas himself put more 
mettle into the troops than did that fiery spirit and her 
black horse. And beyond a doubt, she would have perished 
through an insane daring, had not the Queen in time called 
her from the field, and afterward kept her within her sight 
and reach. Her companion, a Roman turned Palmyrene 
as I heal'd, was like one palsied when she was gone, till 
when, he had been the very Mars of the field. As it was, 
he was the true hero of the day. He brought to my mind 
Odenatus. "Twas so he looked that day we entered Otesi- 
phon. I could wish, and hope too, that he might share^ 
the throne of Zenobia, but that all the world knows whatT: 
:a man-hater she is. But were you not there ?’" 

“No. It could not be. I remained in the city. 

“ Ten thousand more of such men as you— and. we 
would not have fallen back upon Emesa, nor left Antioch ^ 
without the head of Aurelian. But alas for it, the men of ^ 
Palmyra are men of silk, and love ther pleasures too well j 
to be free! I should call them women, but for Zenobia 
and the daughter of Gracchus. 

“ Do not take me for one of them. I am a Roman — 
and could not fight against my country. 

“A Roman! and what makes you here? Suppose I, 
were to run you tlirough with this spear? 

“ Give me another and you are welcome to try.^^ r. 

“ Am I so? Then will I not do it. Give a man his will 
and he no longer cares for it. Besides, having escaped^ 
with hazard from the clutches of one Roman, I will not .! 
encounter another. Dost thou know that demon Aurelian?;' 
Half who fell, fell by his hand. His sword made no moro.r 
of a man in steel armor, than mine would of a naked slave. . 
Many a tall Palmyrene did he split to the saddle, falling 
both ways. Tlie ranks broke and fled wherever he ap- i 
peared. Death could not keep pace with him. The Ro- . 
man Piso — of our side — sought him over the field, to try^ 
his fortune with him, but the gods protected him, and he i 
found him not; otherwise his body were now food fori 


ZENOBIA. 


85 

hyenas. No arm of mortal mold can cope with liis. 
Mine is not despicable: there iS not its match in Palmyra; 
but I would not encounter Aurelian unless I were in love 
I with death. 

I “ It is as you say, I well know. He is reputed in our 
j army to .have killed more with his single arm in battle, 

I than any known in Roman history. Our camp resounds 
i with songs which celebrate his deeds of blood. His slain 
j are counted by thousands, nothing less.^^ 

“ The gods blast him, ere he be seen before the walls of 
; Palmyra; our chance were better against double the num- 
her of legions under another general. The general makes 
li the soldier. The Roman infantry are so many Aurelians. 

' Yet to-morrow’s sun will see him here, I am free to say, I 
: tremble for Palmyra. A war ill begun, will, if auguries 
f are aught, end worse. Last night the sky was full of angry 
I flashes, both white and red. While the army slept over- 
I wrought upon the desert, and the silence of death was 
I around, the watches heard sounds as of the raging of a 
j battle, distinct and clear, dying away in groans as of a host 
perisliing under the sword and battle-ax. These horrid 
sounds at length settled over the sleeping men, till it 
! seemed as if they proceeded from them. The sentinels — at 
; flrst struck dumb with terror and amazement — called out 
i to one another to know what it should mean, but they 
I could only confirm to each other what had been heard, and 
together ask the protection of the gods. But what strikes 
i deeper yet, is wdiat you have heard, that the Queen’s far- 
famed Numidian, just as we came in sight of the walls of 
the city, stumbled, and where he stumbled, fell and died. 
AVliat these things forebode, if not disaster and ruin, ’tis 
hard to say. I need no one to read them to me. ” 

Saying thus, he rose and began to divest himself of the 
remainder of his heavy armor, saying, as he did it — ‘‘ It 
was this heavy armor that lost us the day at Antioch — 

; lighter, and we could have escaped the meshes. Now let 
me lie and sleep.” 

Returning, hardly had I arrived at the house of Grac- 
chus, when it was announced in loud shouts by the slaves 
of the palace, that Gracchus himself, Pausta and Calpurnius 
. were approaching. I hastened to the portico overlooking 
the court-yard, and was there just in season to assist Fausta 
to dismount. It was a joyful moment. I need scarce assure 


80 


ZliKOBIA. 


you. Fausta returns wholly unhurt. Gracchus is wounded I 
upon his left, and Calpurnius upon his right arm — hut will 
not long suffer from the injury. 

It was an unspeakable joy, once more to hear the cheer- 
ful voice of Gracchus resounding in the walls of his own 
dwelling, and to see Fausta, eased of her unnatural load of 
iron, again moving in her accustomed sphere in that grace- 
ful costume, partly Eoman and partly Persian, and which 
now hides and now betrays the form, so as to reveal its 
beauty in the most perfect manner. A deep sadness, deeper 
than ever, sits upon her countenance, whenever her own 
thoughts occupy her. But surrounded by her friends, her 
native spirit, too elastic to be subdued, breaks foi-th, and 
she seems her former self again. 

Our evening meal was sad, but not silent. 

Gracchus instructed me, by giving a minute narrative 
of the march to Antioch — of the two battles — and the re- 
treat. Calpurnius related with equal exactness- the part 
which he took, and the services which Fausta, by her pene- 
trating observation, had been able to render to the army. 
They united in bestowing the highest encomiums upon Ze- 
nobia, who herself planned the battle, and disposed the 
forces, and with such consummate judgment, that Zabdas 
himself found nothing to disapprove or alter. I 

‘‘ The day was clearly ours,-’"’ said Fausta, “ but for the ■ 
artifice of Aurelian — allowable, I know, by all the rules of 
war — by which we were led on blindfold to our ruin. But 
flushed as we were by the early and complete success of the 
(lay, is it to be severely condemned that our brave men fol- 
lowed up their advantages with too much confidence, and 
broke from that close order, in which till then, they had 
fought; and by doing so, lost the command of themselves 
and their own strength? Oh, the dullness of our spirits, 
that we did not sooner detect the rank insincerity of that 
Sudden, unexpected retreat of the Roman horse 

“The gods rather be praised, said Gracchus, “that 
your watchful eye detected so soon, what was too well con- 
certed and acted to be perceived at all, and that as the 
fruit of it we sit here alive, and Zenobia holds her throne, 
and so many of our brave soldiers are now locked in sleep 
beneath their qidet tents. 

“ That, I think,’ ^ said Calpurnius, “ is rather the senti- 
ment that should possess us. You will hardly believe^, 


ZENOBIA. 


87 


Lncius, that it was owing to the military genius of your 
ancient playmate, that we escaped the certain destruction 
that had been prepared for us?^^ 

/‘I can believe anything good in that quarter, and upon 
slighter testimony. I have already heard from the lips of 
a soldier of your legion, that which you have now related. 
Part of the praise was by him bestowed upon one Piso, a 
Roman turned Palmyrene as he termed him, who, he re- 
ported, fought at the side of the daughter of Gracchus. 

“ He could not have said too much of that same Piso,'" 
said Gracchus. “ Palmyra owes him a large debt of grati- 
tude, which I am sure she will not be slow to pay. But let 
us think rather of the future than of the past, which, how- 
ever we may have conducted, speaks only of disaster." 

I thank you for your assurances concerning Laco and 
Coelia. Your conscience will never reproach you for this 
lenity. 


LETTER XIV. 

The last days of this so lately favored empire draw near 
— at least such is my judgment. After a brief day of 
glory, its light will set in a long night of utter darkness 
and ruin. 

Close upon the rear guard of the Queen's forces followed 
the light troo23S of Aurelian, and early this morning it was 
proclaimed that the armies of Rome were in sight and 
fast approaching the city. These armies were considered 
too numerous to hazard another battle, therefore the gates 
were shut, and we are now beleaguered by a power too 
mighty to contend with, and which the Arabs, the climate, 
and want, must be trusted to subdue. The circumjacent 
plains are filled with the legions of Rome. Exhausted by* 
the march across the desert, they have but pitched their 
tents, and now repose. 

The Queen displays more than ever her accustomed ac- 
tivity and energy. She examines in person every part of 
the vast extent of wall, and every engine planted upon them 
for their defense. By her frequent presence in every part 
of the city she inspires her soldiers with the same spirit 
which possesses herself; and for herself, to behold her 
careering through the streets of the city, reviewing, and 


88 


ZENOBIA. 


often addressing, the different divisions of the army, and 
issuing her commands, she seems rather like one who is 
now Queen of the East, and is soon to be of the world, than 
one whose dominion is already narrowed down to the com- 
pass of a single city, and may shortly be deprived even of 
that. The lofty dignity of her air has assumed a more im- 
posing greatness still. The imperial magnificence of her 
state is noways diminished, but rather increased, so that 
by a sort of delusion of the senses, she seems more a Queen 
than ever. By her native vigor and goodness, and by the 
addition of a most consummate art, by which she manages 
as she will a people whom she perfectly comprehends, she 
is at this moment more deeply intrenched within the affec- 
tions of her subjects, and more completely the object of 
their idolatrous homage than ever before. Yet in her secret 
soul there is a deep depression, and a loss of confidence in 
her cause, wliich amounts not yet to a loss of hope, but 
approaches it. This is seen by those who can observe her 
in her more quiet hours, when the glare of public action 
and station is off, and her mind is left to its own workings. 
But, like those who play at dice, she has staked all — her 
kingdom, her crown — ^her life perhaps — upon a single 
throw, and having wound herself up to the desperate act, 
all the entreaty or argument of the whole earth could not 
move her to unclasp the hand that wields the fatal box. 
She will abide the throw. 

There are still those who use both entreaty and argument 
to persuade her even at this late hour to make the best 
terms she may with Eome. Otho, though perfectly loyal 
and true, ceases not to press upon her, both in public and 
in private, those considerations which may have any Aveight 
with her to induce a change of measures. But it has thus 
far been to no purpose. Others there are who, as the dan- 
ger increases, become more and more restless, and scruple 
not to let their voice be heard in loud complaint and dis- 
content, but they are too few in proportion to the vvhole, 
to make them objects of apprehension. Jt will however be 
strange if, as the siege is prolonged, they do not receive 
such accessions of strength as to render them dangerous. 

The Emperor has commenced his attacks upon the city 
in a manner that shows him unacquainted with its strength. 
The battle has raged fiercely all day, with great lossiwe 


ZEKOBIA. 


89 

infer to tlie Eomans, Avith none we know to the Pal- 
myi-enes. 

Early on the morning of the second day it was evident 
hat a general assault was to be made. The Homan army 
comp etely surrounded the city, at the same signal ap- 
proached, and under cover of their shields, attempted both 
to undermine and scale the walls. But their attempts were 
met with such vigor, and Avith such advantage of action by 
the besieged, that although repeated many times during the 
day, they have resulted in only loss and death to the assail- 
ants. It is incredible the variety and ingenuity of the con- 
trivances by which the Queen^s forces beat off and rendered 
ineffectual all the successive movements of the enemy, in 
their attempts to surmount the walls. Not only from 
every part of them were showers of arrows discharged from 
the bows of experienced archers, but from engines also, by 
which they were driven to a much greater distance, and 
AVith great increase of force. 

This soon rendered every attack of this nature useless 
and Avorse, and their efforts were then concentrated upon 
the several gates, which simultaneously were attempted to 
be broken in, fired, or undermined. But here again, as 
often as these attempts were renewed, were they defeated, 
and great destruction made of those engaged in them. The 
troops approached as is usual, covered completely, or buried 
rather, beneath their shields. They were suffered to form 
directly under the Avails, and actually commence their Avork 
of destruction, when suddenly from the towers of the gates, 
and through channels constructed for tlie purpose in every 
part of the masonry, torrents of liquid fire were poured 
upon the iron roof, beneath Avliich the soldiers worked. 
This at first they endured. The melted substances ran off 
from the polished surface of the shields, and the stones 
which were dashed upon them from engines, after rattling 
and bounding over their heads, rolled harmless to the 
ground. But there was in reserve a foe which they could 
not encounter. When it was found that the fiery streams 
flowed doAvn the slanting sides of the shell, penetrating 
scarcely at all through the crevices of the well-joined 
shields, it was suggested by the ingenious Periander, that 
there should first b^e throAvn down a quantity of pitch in a 
half melted state, by which the Avhole surface of the roof 
should be completely covered, and which should then, by a 


ZENOBIA. 


00 

frcsli discharge of fire, be set in a blaze, the effect of which 
mast be to heat the shields, to such a degree, that they 
could neither be held, nor the heat beneath endured by the 
miners. This was immediately resorted to at all the gates, 
and the success was complete. For no sooner was the cold 
pitch set on fire and constantly fed by fresh quantities fiom 
above, than the heat became insupportable to those below, 
who suddenly letting go their hold, and breaking away 
from their compacted form, in hope to escape from the 
stifling heat, the burning substance then poured in upon 
them, and vast numbers perished mi^rably upon the spot, 
or ran burning, and howling with pain, toward the camp. 
The slaughter made was very great, and terrible to behold. 

Nevertheless, the next day, the same attempts were re- 
newed, in the hope, we supposed, that the Queen s missiles 
might be expended, but were defeated again in the same 
manner and with like success. 

These things being so, and Aurelian being apparently 
convinced that the city can not' be^ takmi by storm, the 
enemy are now employed in surrounding it with a double 
ditch and rampart, as defenses both against us and our 
allies, between which the army is to be safely encamped; 
an immense labor, to which I believe a Roman, army is 
alone equal. While this has been doing, the Palmyrenes 
have made frequent sallies from the gates, greatly mter- 
rupting the progress of the work, and inflicting severe 
losses. These attacks have usually been made at night, 
when the soldiers have been wearied by the exhausting toil 
of the day, and only a small proportion of the whole have 
been in a condition to ward off the blows. 

The Roman works are at length completed. Every lofty 
palm-tree, every cedar, every terebinth, has disappeared 
from the surrounding plains, to be converted into batter- 
ing-rams, or wrought into immense towers, planted upon 
wheels, by which the walls are to be approached and sur- 
moimted. Houses and palaces have been demolished, that 
the ready-hewed timbers might be detached and applied to 
various warlike purposes. The once beautiful environs 
already begin to put on the appearance of desolation and 
ruin. 

The citizens have awaited these preparations with watch- 
ful anxiety. The Queen has expressed everywhere and to 


i I I 


ZENOBIA. 


91 


all, her coiiviction that all these vast and various prepara- 
tions are futile— that the bravery of her soldiers, and the 
completeness of her counter provisions, will be sufficient 
lor the protection and deliverance of the city. 

Another day of fierce and bloody war. At four different 
pomts have the vast towers been pushed to the walls, filled 
with soldiers, and defended against the fires of the besieged 
by a casing of skins, and every mcombustible substance, 
and provided with a store of water to quench whatever part 
miglit by chance kindle. It was fearful to behold these huge 
structures urged along by a concealed force, partly of men 
and partly of animals, and drawing nigh the walls. If they 
should once aiiproach so near that they could be fastened 
to the walls, and so made secure, then could the enemy 
pour their legions upon the ramparts, and the battle would 
be transferred to the city itself. But in this case, as in the 
assaults upon the gates, the fire of the besieged has proved 
irresistible. 

It was the direction of Periander, to whose unequaled 
sagacity this part of the defense was entrusted, that so soon 
as the towers should approach within reach of the most 
liowerful engines, they should be fired, if possible, by means 
of well-barbed arrows and javelins, to wliich were attached 
sacks and balls of infiammable and explosive substances. 
Tliese fastening themselves upon eveiy part of the tower 
could not fail to set fire to them while yet at some distance, 
and in extinguishing which the water and other means pro- 
vided for that purpose would be nearly or quite exhausted, 
before they had reached the walls. Then as they came 
lAdthin easier reach, the engines were to belch forth those 
rivers of oil, fire, and burning pitch, which he was sure no 
structure, unless of sohd iron, could withstand. 

These directions were carefully observed, and their suc- 
cess at every point such as Periander had predicted. At 
the Gate of the Desert the most formidable preparations 
were made, under the inspection of the Emperor himself, 
who, at a distance, could plainly be discerned directing the 
work and encouraging the soldiers. Two towers of enor- 
mous size were here constructed, and driven toward the 
walls. Upon both, as they came within the play of the 
engines, were showered the fiery javelins and arrows, which 
it required all the activity of the occupants to ward off, or 
extinguish where they had succeeded in fastenhig them- 


02 


ZEKOBIA. 


selves. One was soon in flames. The other, owing eitlier 
to its being of a better construction, or to a less vigorous 
discharge of fire on the part of the defenders of the wall, 
not only escaped the more distant storm of blazing nais- 
siles, but succeeded in quenching the floods of burning 
pitch and oil, which, as it drew nearer and nearer, were 
poured upon it in fiery streams. On it moved, propelled 
by its invisible and protected power, and had now reached 
the wall— the bridge was in the very act of being thrown 
and grappled to the ramparts; Aurelian was seen pressing 
forward the legions, who, as soon as it should be fastened, 
were to pour up its flights of steps and out upon the walls; 
when, to the horror of all, not less of the besiegers than of 
the besieged, its foundations upon one side — ^being laid over 
the moat— suddenly gave way, and the towering and enor- 
mous mass, with all its living burden, fell thundering to 
the plain. A shout, as of a delivered and conquering 
army, went up from the walls, while upon the legions 
below, such -as had not been crushed by the tumbling ruin, 
and who endeavored to save themselves by flight, a sudden 
storm of stones, rocks, burning pitch, and missiles of a 
thousand kinds was directed, that left few to escape to tell 
the tale of death to their comrades. Aurelian, in his fury,- 
or his desire to aid the fallen, approaching too near the 
walls, was himself struck by a well-directed shaft, wound- 
ed, and home from the field. 

At the other gates, where similar assaults had been made, 
the same success attended the Palmyrenes. The towers 
were in each instance set on fire and destroyed. 

The city has greatly exulted at the issue of these repeat- 
ed contests. Every sound and sign of triumph has been 
made upon the walls. Banners have been waved to and 
fro, trumpets have been blown, and in bold defiance of 
their power, parties of horse have sallied out from the 
gates, and after careering in sight of the enemy, have re- 
turned again within the walls. The enemy are evidently 
dispirited, and already weaiy of the work they have under- 
taken. 

The Queen and her ministers are confident of success, so 
far as active resistance of the attacks upon the walls is con- 
cerned — and perhaps with reason. For not even the walls 
of Rome, as they are now rebuilding, can be of greater 
strength than these; and never were the defenses of a ])e- 


ZEKOBIA. 


93 


Sieged city so complete at all points. But with equal rea- 
son are they despondent in the prospect of Aurelian^s re- 
ducing them by want. If he shall succeed in procuring 
supples for his army, and if he shall defeat the allies of 
the Queen, who are now every day looked for, captivitv and 
riun are sure. But the Queen and the citizens entertain 
themselves with the hope, that Aurelian^s fiery temper will 
never endure the slow and almost disgraceful process of 
starving them into a surrender, and that finding his army 
constantly diminishing through the effects of such extraor- 
dinary exertions in a climate like this, he will at length 
propose such terms as they without dishonor can accept. 

Many days have passed in inactivity on both sides; ex- 
cept that nothing can exceed the strictness with which all 
approaches to the city are watched, and the possibility of 
supplies reaching it cut off. . 

That which has been expected has come to pass. The 
Emperor has offered terms of surrender to the Queen; but 
such terms, and so expressed, that their acceptance was not 
so rnuch as debated. The Queen was in council with her 
advisers, when it was announced that a herald from the 
Koman camp was seen approaching the walls. The gates 
were ordered to be opened, and the messenger admitted. 
He was conducted to the presence of the queen, surrounded 
by her ministers. 

“ I come,^" said he, as he advanced toward Zenobia, 
‘‘ bearing a letter from the Emperor of Rome to the Queen 
of Palmyra. Here it is.^-’ 

“ I receive it gladly,"" replied the Queen, “ and hope 
thac it may open a way to an honorable composition of the 
difficulties which now divide us. Hichomachus, break the 
seals, and read its contents."" 

The secretary took the epistle from the hands of the 
herald, and opening, read that which foUows: 

Auk ELIAN", Emperor of Rome and Conqueror of the 

East, to Zenobia and her com'panions in arms. 

You ought of your own accord long since to have 
done, what now by this letter I enjoin and command. And 
what I now enjoin and command is this, an immediate sur- 
render of the city; but with assurance of life to yourself 
mid your friends; you, 0 Queen, with your friends, to pass 


94 


ZENOBIA. 


your days wliere tlie senate, in its sovereign will, shall 
please to appoint. The rights of every citizen shall be re- 
spected, upon condition that all precious stones, silver, gold, 
silk, horses and camels he delivered into the hands of the 
Komans.^'’ 

As the secretary finished these words the Queen broke 
forth — 

‘‘ What think you, good friends her mounting color 
and curled lip showing the storm that raged within — 
“ What think you? Is it a man or a god who has written 
thus? Can it be a mortal who speaks in such terms to 
another? By the soul of Odenatus, but I think it must be 
tlie God of War himself. Slave, what sayest thou?^^ 

I am but the chosen bearer,’’^ the herald replied, ‘‘ of 
what I took from the hands of the Emperor. But between 
him and the god just named there is, as I deem, but small 
difference. 

“ Thak’s well said,^^ replied the Queen; “ there ^s some- 
thing of the old Roman in thee. Friends,'’^ she continued, 
turning to her counselors, “ what answer shall we send to 
this lordly command? What is your advice ?^^ 

“ Mine is,'’^ said Zabdas, “ that the Queen set her foot 
upon the accursed scroll, and that yonder wretch that bore 
it be pitched headlong^ from the highest tower upon the 
walls, and let the wind from his rottiug carcass bear back 
our only answer. 

“Nay, nay, brave Zabdas,” said the Queen, the fury of 
her general having the effect to restore her own self-posses- 
sion, “ thou wouldst not counsel so. War then doubles its 
woe and guilt, when cruelty and injustice bear sway. 
Otho, what sayest thou?” 

“ Answer it in its own vein! You smile. Queen, as if 
incredulous. But I repeat — answer it in its own vein! I 
confess an inward disappointment and an inward change. 
I hoped much from terms which a wise man might at this 
point propose, and soil neither his own nor his country's 
honor. But Aurelian — I now see — is not such a one. He 
is but the spoiled child of fortune. He has grown too 
quickly great to grow well. Wisdom has had no time to 
ripen. 

Others concurring, Zenobia seized a pen and wx’oto that 
which I transcribe. 


ZEKOl^IA. 


95 

Zenobia, Queen of the East, to Aureliak Augustus. 

^ “ No one before you ever thought to make a letter serve 
instead of a battle. But let me tell you, whatever is won 
in war, is won by bravery, not by letters. You ask me to 
siu’render — as if ignorant that Cleopatra chose rather to 
die, than, surrendering, to live in the enjoyment of every 
honor. Our Persian allies will not fail me. I look for 
thoin every hour. The Saracens are with me— the Ar- 
menians are with me. The Syrian robbers have already 
done you no little damage. VVhat then can you expect, 
when these allied armies are upon you? You will lay aside 
I think a little of that presumption with which you now 
command me to surrender, as if you were already con- 
queror of the whole world. 

The letter being written and approved by those who were 
present, it was placed by Nichomachus in the hands of the 
herald. 


No one can marvel, my Curtius, that a letter in the 
terms of Aurelian^s should be rejected, nor that it should 
provoke such an answer as Zenobia^’s. It has served mere- 
ly to exasperate passions which were already enough excit- 
ed. It was entirely in the power of the Emperor to have 
terminated the contest, by the proposal of conditions which 
Palmyra would have gladly accepted, and by which Rome 
would have been more profited and honored than it can be 
by the reduction and ruin of a city and kingdom like this. 
But it is too true, that Aurelian is rather a soldier than an 
emperor. A victory got by blood is sweeter far to him, I 
fear, than tenfold wider conquests won by peaceful negotia- 
tions. 

The effect of the taunting and scornful answer of the 
Queen has been immediately visible in the increased activ- 
ity and stir in the camp of Aurelian. Preparations are 
going on for renewed assaults upon the walls upon a much 
larger scale than before. 

On the evening of the day on which the letter of Aurelian 
was received and answered, I resorted, according to my 
custom during the siege, to a part of the walls not far from 
the house of Gracchus, whence an extended view is had of 
the Roman works and camp, Fausta, as often before, ac- 
companied me. She delights thus at the close of these 


ZENOBIA. 


96 

weary, melaiiclioly days, to walk forth, breathe the reviving 
air, obser've the condition of the city, and from the towers 
upon the walls, watch the movements and labors of the 
enemy. The night was without moon or stars. Low and 
heavy clouds hung, but did not move, over our heads, llie 
air was still, nay, rather dead, so deep was its repose. 

How oppressive is this gloom, said Fausta, as we 
came forth upon the ramparts, and took our seat where the 
eye could wander unobstructed over the plain, and yet 
how gayly illuminated is this darkness by yonder belt of 
moving lights. It seems like the gorgeous preparation for 
a funeral. Above us and behind it is silent and dark. 
These show like the torches of the approaching mourners. 
The gods grant there be no omen in this.^^ 

“ I know not,"" I replied. “ It may be so. To-day has, 

I confess it, destroyed the last hope in my mind that there 
might come a happy termination to this unwise and un- 
necessary contest. It can end now only in the utter defeat 
and ruin of one of the parties — and which that shall be I 
can not doubt. Listen, Fausta, to the confused murnmr 
that comes from the camp of the Homan army, bearing 
witness to its numbers; and to those sounds of the ham- 
mer, the ax, and the saw, plied by ten thousand arms, 
bearing witness to the activity and exhaustless resources of 
the enemy, and you can not but feel, that at last — it may 
be long first— but that at last, Palmyi*a must give way. 
From what has been observed to-day, there is not a doubt 
that Aurelian has provided, by means of regular caravans 
to Antioch, for a constant supply of whatever his army re- 
quires. Ke-enforcements too, both of horse and foot, are 
seen daily arriving, in such numbers as more than to make 
good those who have been lost under the walls, or by the 
excessive heat of the climate."" 

“ I hear so,"" said Fausta, “ but I will not despair. If I 
have one absorbing love, it is for Palmyra. It is the land 
of my birth, of my affections. I can not tell you with what 
pride I have watched its growth, and its daily advancement 
in arts and letters, and have dwelt in fancy upon that fut- 
ure, . when it should rival Eome, and surpass the tra- 
ditionary glories of Babylon and Ninevah. Oh, Lucius! to 
see now a black pall descending — these swollen clouds are 
an emblem of it — and settling upon the prospect and veil- 
ing it forever in death and ruin — I can not believe it. It 


ZENOBIA. 


07 


can not have come to this. It is treason to give way to 
Zenobia is, final ruin can not come. 

It ought not, I wish it could not,"" I replied, but 
my fears are that it will, and my fears now are convictions. 

1 Fausta, are the so certainly expected 

re lefs from Armenia, from Persia?— Fausta, Palmyra must 


Lucius Piso, Palmyra shall not fall— I say it— and 
every Palmyrene says it— and what all say, is decreed. If 
we are true m our loyalty and zeal, the Eomans will be 
wearied out. Lucius, could I but reach the tent of Aure- 
liaii, my single arm should rid Palmyra of her foe, and 
achieve her freedom. "" 

No, Fausta, you could not do it. "" 

Indeed I would and could. I would consent to draw 
infamy upon my head as a woman, if by putting off my sex 
and my nature too, I could by such an' act give life to a 
dying nation, and what is as much, preserve Zenobia her 
throne. " " • 


Think not in that vein, Fausta. I would not that 
your mind should be injured even by the thought."" 

‘‘I do not feel it to be an injury,"" she rejoined; ^Mt 
would be a sacrifice for my country, and the dearer, in that 
I should lose my good name in making it. I should be 
sine of one thing, that I should do it in no respect for my 
own glory. But let us talk no more of it. I often end, 
Lucip, when thinking of our calamities, and of a fatal 
termination of these contests to us, with dwelling upon one 
bright vision. Misfortune to us will bring you nearer to 
Julia. "" 

The gods forbid that my happiness should be bought 
at such a price."" 

“ It vv^ill only come as an accidental consequence and can 
not disturb you. If Palmyra falls, the pride of Zenobia 
will no longer separate you."" 

But,"" I replied, ‘^the prospect is not all so bright. 
Captive princes are by the usages of Rome often sacrificed, 
and Aurelian, if sometimes generous, is often cruel. Fears 
w^ould possess me in the event of a capitulation or con- 
quest, which I can not endure to entertain."" 

‘‘ Oh, Lucius, you rate Aurelian too low, if you believe he 
could revenge himself upon a woman — and such a woman 
as Zenobia. I can not believe it is yiossible. No. If 

4-2d half 


98 


ZEKOBIA. 


Palmyra falls it will give you Julia, and it will be some 
consolation even in the fall of a kingdom, that it brings 
happiness to two, whom friendship binds closer to me than 
any others. 

As Fausta said these words, we became conscious of the 
presence of a person at no great distance from us, leaning 
against the parapet of the wall, the upper part of the form 
just discernible. 

Who stands yonder?"" said Fausta. It has not the 
form of a sentinel; besides, the sentinel paces by us to and 
fro without pausing. It may be Calpurnius. His legion 
is in this quarter. Let us move toward him."" 

No. He moves himself and comes toward us. How 
dark the night! I can make nothing of the form."" 

The figure passed us, and unchallenged by the sentinel 
whom it met. After a brief absence it returned, and stop- 
ping as it came before us — 

‘‘ Fausta!’" said a voice — once heard, not to be mistaken. 

'‘Zenobia!"" said Fausta, and forgetting dignity, em- 
braced her as a friend. 

‘‘ What makes you here?"" inquired Fausta— ‘‘ are there 
none in Palmyra to do your bidding, but you must be 
abroad at such an hour and such a place?" " 

“ "Tis not so fearful quite,"" replied the Queen, as a 
battle-field, and there you trust me. "" 

‘‘ Never, willingly."" 

“Then you do not love my honor?"" said the Queen, 
taking Fausta’s hand as she spoke. 

“ I love your safety better — no — no — what have I said — 
not better than your honor — and yet to what end is honor, 
if we lose the life in which it resides? I sometimes think 
we purchase human glory too dearly, at the sacrifice of 
quiet, peace, and security. "" 

“ Bufc you do not think so long. What is a life of indul- 
gence and sloth! Life is worthy only in what it achieves. 
Should I -have done better to have sat over my embroidery, 
in the midst of my slaves, all my days, than to have spent 
them in building up a kingdom?"" 

“ Oh, no — no — you have done right. Slaves can em- 
broider: Zenobia can not. This hand was made for other 
weapon than the needle."" 

“ I am weary,"" said the Queen; “ let us sit;"" — and say- 
ing so, she placed herself upon the low stone block, upon 


ZEKOBIA. 


99 


which we had been sitting, and drawing Fausta near her, 
she tlirew her left arm round her, retaining the hand she 
neld clasped m her own. 


I am weary, she continued, ‘‘ for I have walked 
nearly the circmt of the walls. You asked what makes me 
here. Nd night passes but I visit these towers and battle- 
ments. If the governor of the ship sleeps, the men at the 
watch sleep. Besides, I love Palmyra too well to sleep 
while others wait and watch. I would do my share. How 
beautiful is this! — the city girded by these strange fires! its 
ears filled with this busy music! Piso, it seems hard to 
believe an enemy, and such an enemy, is there, and that 
these sights and sounds are all of death !’^ 


Would it were not so, noble Queen! Would it were 
not yet too late to move in the cause of peace. If even at 
the risk of life I — 


Forbear, Piso,^^ quickly rejoined the Queen; “ it is to 
no purpose. You have mythanks, but your Emperor has 
mosed the door of peace forever. It is now war unto death. 
He may prove victor: it is quite possible: but I draw not 
back— no word of supplication goes from me. And every 
citizen of Palmyi-a, save a 'few sottish souls, is with me. It 
were worth my throne and my life, the bare suggestion of 
an embassy now to Aurelian. But let us not speak of this, 
but of things more agreeable. The day for trouble, the 
night for rest. Fausta, where is the quarter of Cal- 
purnius? methinks it is hereabouts. 

It is,"" replied Fausta, just beyond the towers of the 
gate next to us; were it not for this thick night, we could 
see where at this time he is usually to be found, doing, like 
yourself, an unnecessary task. "" 

He is a good soldier and a faithful — may he prove as 
true to you, my noble girl, as he has to me. Albeit I am 
myself a skeptic in love, I can not but be made happier 
when I see hearts worthy of each other united by that bond. 

I trust that bright days are coming, when I may do you the 
honor I would. Piso, I am largely a debtor to your broth- 
er— and Palmyi-a as much. Singular fortime! that while 
Borne thus oppresses me, toBomans I should owe so much; 
to one twice my life, to another my army. But where, 
Lucius Piso, was your heart, that it fell not into the snare 
that caught Calpurnius.^"" 


100 


ZENOBIA. 


My heart/' I replied, “ has always been Fausta's, from 

childhood — " . , 

Our attachment/' said Fausta, interrupting^ me, is 
not less than love, but greater. It is the sacred tie of nat- 
ure, if I may say so, of brother to sister j it is friendship. ^ 

“ You say well," replied the Queen. “ I like the senti- 
ment. It is not less than love, but greater. Love is a 
delirium, a dream, a disease. It is full of disturbance. It 
is unequal, capricious, unjust; its felicity, when at the 
highest, is then nearest to deepest misery; a step, and it is 
into unfathomable gulfs of woe. While the object loved is 
as yet unattained, life is darker than darkest night. When 
it is attained, it is then oftener like- the ocean heaving and 
tossing from its foundations, than the calm, peaceful lake, 
which mirrors friendship. And when lost, all is lost, the 
imi verse is nothing. Who will deny it the name of mad- 
ness? Will love find entrance into Elysium? Will heaven 
know more than friendship? I trust not. It were an ele- 
ment of discord there, where harmony should reign per- 
petual. " After a pause, in which she seemed buried in 
thought, she added musingly— ‘‘ What darkness rests upon 
the future! Life, like love, is itself but a dream; often a 
brief or a prolonged madness. Its light burns sometimes 
brightly, oftener obscurely, and with a flickering ray, and 
then goes out in smoke and darkness. How strange that 
creatures so exquisitely wrought as we are, capable of such 
thoughts and acts, rising by science, and art, and letters, 
almost to the level of gods, should be fixed here for so 
short a time, running our race with the unintelligent brute; 
living not so long as some, dying hke all. Could I have 
ever looked out of this life into the possession of any other 
beyond it, I believe my aims would have been different. I 
should not so easily have been satisfied with glory and 
power: at least I think so; for who knows himself? I 
should then, I think, have reached after higher kinds of 
excellence, such for example as, existing more in the mind 
itself, could be of avail after death— could be carried out 
of the world — ^which power, riches, glory, can not. The 
greatest service which any philosopher could perform for 
the human race, would be to demonstrate the certainty of 
a future existence, in . the same satisfactory manner that 
Euclid demonstrates the truths of geometry. We can not 
help believing Euclid if we would, and the truths he has 


ZENOBIA. 


101 


established concerning lines and angles, influence us 
whether we will or not. Whenever the immortahty of the 
soul shall be proved in like manner, so that men can not 
help believing it, so that they shall draw it in with the first 
elements of all knowledge, then will mankind become a 
quite different race of beings. Men will be more virtuous 
and more happy. How is it possible to be either in a very 
exalted degree, dwelling as we do in this deep obscure, un- 
certain whether we are mere earth and water, or parts of 
the divinity; whether we are worms or immortals; men or 
gods; spending all our days in, at best, miserable per- 
plexity and doubt? Do you remember, Fausta and Piso, 
the discourse of Longinus in the garden, concerning the 
probability of a future life?^^ 

We do, very distinctly. 

‘‘ And how did it impress you?^^ 

It seems to possess much likelihood, replied Fausta, 

but that was all. 

“Yes,^"’ responded the Queen, sighing deeply, “that 
was indeed all. Philosophy, in this part of it, is a mere 
guess. Even Longinus can but conjecture. And what to 
his great and piercing intellect stands but in the strength 
of probability, to ours will, of necessity, address itself in 
the very weakness of fiction. As it is, I value life only for 
the brightest and best it can give now, and these to my 
mind are power and a throne. When these are lost I 
would fall unregarded into darkness and death. 

“ But,^^ I ventured to suggest, “ you derive great pleas- 
ure and large profit from study; from the researches of 
philosophy, from the knowledge of history, from contem- 
plation of the beauties of art, and the magnificence of nat- 
ure. Are not these things that give worth to life? If you 
reasoned aright, and probed the soul well, would you not 
find that from these, as from hidden springs, a great deal 
of all the best felicity you have tasted, has swelled up? 
Then, still more, from acts of good and just government; 
from promoting and witnessing the happiness of your sub- 
jects; from private friendship; from affections resting upon 
objects worthy to be loved— from these has no happiness 
come worth living for? And beside all this, from an in- 
ward consciousness of rectitude? Most of all this may still 
be yours, though you no longer sat upon a throne, and 
men held their lives but in your breath. 


102 


ZENOBIA. 


“ From such sources/'’ replied Zenobia, some streams 
have issued it may be, that have added to what I have en- 
joyed; but, of themselves, they would have been nothing. 
The lot of earth, being of the low and common herd, is a 
lot too low and sordid to be taken if proffered. I thank 
Jthe gods mine has been • better. It has been a throne, 
glory, renown, pomp and power; and I have been happy. 
Stripped of these, and without the prospect of immortality, 
and I would not live. • 

With these words she rose quickly from her seat, saying 
that she had a further duty to perform. Fausta entreated 
to be used as an agent or messenger, but could not prevail. 
Zenobia darting from our side was in a moment lost in the 
surrounding darkness. We returned to the house of 
Gracchus. 

In a few days, the vast preparations of the Romans be- 
ing complete, a general assault was made by the whole 
army upon every part of the walls. Every engine, known 
to our modern methods of attacking walled cities, was 
brought to bear. Towers constructed in the former man- 
ner were wheeled up to the walls. . Battering-rams of 
enormous size, those who worked them being protected by 
sheds of hide, thundered on all sides at the gates and walls. 
Language fails to convey an idea of the energy, the fury, 
the madness of the onset. The Roman army seemed as if 
but one being, with such equal courage and contempt of 
danger and death was the dreadful work performed. But 
the Queen ^s defenses have again proved superior to all the 
powers of Aurelian. Her engines have dealt death and ruin 
in awful measure among the assailants. The moat and 
the surrounding plain are filled and covered with the bodies 
of the slain. As night came on after a long day of unin- 
terrupted conflict, the troops of Aurelian, baffled and de- 
feated at every point, withdrew to their tents, and left the 
city to repose. 

The temples of the gods have resounded with songs of 
thanksgiving for this new deliverance, garlands have been 
hung around their images, and gifts laid upon their altars. 
Jews and Christians, Persians and Egyptians, after the 
manner of their worship, have added their voices to the 
general chorus. 

Again there has been a pause. The Romans have rested 


ZEXOBIA. 


103 


after the late fierce assault to recover strength, and the city 
has breathed free. Many are filled with new courage and 
hope, and tl^ discontented spirits are silenced. The 
praises of Zenobia, next to those of the gods, fill every 
mouth. The streets ring with songs composed in her 
honor. 

Another day of excited expectations and bitter disap- 
pointment. 

It was early reported that forces were seen approaching 
from the east, on the very skirts of the plain, and that 
they could be no other than the long-looked-for Persian 
army. Before its approach was indicated to those upon 
the highest towers of the gates, by the clouds of dust hover- 
ing over it, it was evident from the extraordinary commo- 
tion in the Eoman intrenchments, that somewhat unusual 
had taken place. Their scouts must have brought in early 
intelligence of the advancing foe. Soon as the news spread 
through the city the most extravagant demonstrations of 
joy broke forth on all sides. Even tlie most moderate and 
sedate could not but give way to expressions of heartfelt 
satisfaction. The multitudes poured to the walls to wit- 
ness a combat upon which the existence of the city seemed 
suspended. 

“ Father,’’^ said Fausta, after Gracchus had communi- 
cated the happy tidings, “ I can not sit here — let us hasten 
to the towers of the Persian gate, whence we may behold 
the encounter. 

I will not oppose you, replied Gracchus, ‘‘but the 
sight may cost you naught but tears and pain. Persia’s 
good will, I fear, will not be much, nor manifested by large 
contributions to our cause. If it be what I suspect — but a 
j^altry subdivision of her army, sent here rather to be cut 
in pieces than aught* else — it will but needlessly afiiict and 
irritate. ’ ’ 

“ Father, I would turn away from no evil that threatens 
Palmyra. Besides, I should suffer more from imagined, 
than from real disaster. Let us hasten to the walls. ” 

We fiew to the Persian gate. 

“ But why,” asked Fausta, addressing Gracchus on the 
way, “ are you not more elated? What suspicion do you 
entertain of Sapor? Will he not be sincerely desirous to 
aid us?” 


104 


ZENOBIA. 


‘‘ I fear replied Gracchus. “ If we are to be the 

conquering party in this war^, he will send such an army as 
would afterward make it plain that he had intended an act 
of friendship, and done the duty of an ally. If we are to 
be beaten, he will lose little in losing such an army, and 
will easily, by placing the matter in certain lights, con- 
vince the Romans that their interests had been consulted, 
rather than ours. We can expect no act of true friend- 
ship from Sapor. Yet he dares not abandon us. Were 
Hormisdas upon the throne, our prospects were brighter. 

“ I pray the gods that ancient wretch may quickly perish 
then,^^ cried Fausta, “ if such might be the consequences 
to us. Why is he suffered longer to darken Persia and 
the earth with his cruel despotism!^" 

“ His throne shakes beneath him,^^ replied Gracchus; 
“ a breath may throw it down. ” 

As we issued forth upon the walls, and then mounted to 
the battlements of the highest tower, whence the eye took 
in the environs of the city, and even the furthest verge of 
the plain, and overlooked, like one's own court-yard, the 
camp and intrenchments of the Romans — we beheld with 
distinctness the Persian forces within less than two Roman 
miles. They had halted and formed, and there appai-ently 
awaited the enemy. 

No sooner had Gracchus surveyed well the scene, than 
he exclaimed, “ The gods be praised! I have done Sapor 
injustice. Yonder forces are such as may well call forth all 
the strength of the Roman army. In that case there will 
be much for us to do. I must descend and to the post of 
duty. " 

So saying he left us. 

“ I suppose," said Pausta, “ in case the enemy be such 
as to draw off the larger part of the Roman army, sorties 
will be made from the gates upon their camp?" 

“ Yes," I rejoined; “ if the Romans should suffer them- 
selves to be drawn to a distance, and their forces divided, 
a great chance would fall into the hands of the city. • But 
that they will not do. You perceive the Romans move not, 
but keep their station just where they are. They will 
oblige the Persians to commence the assault upon them in 
their present position, or there will be no battle. " 

“ I perceive their policy now," said Fausta. “ And the 
battle being fought so near the walls, they are still so 


ZENOBIA. 


105 


istrongly beleaguered as ever— at least half their strength 
seems to remain within their intrenchnients. See, see! the 
Persian army is on the march. It moves toward the city. 
Now again it halts. 

It hopes to entice Aurelian from his position, so as to 
put power into our hands. But they will fail in their ob- 
ject. 

“ Yes, I fear they will/ ^ replied Fausta. The Romans 

remain fixed as statues in their place. 

“ Is it not plain to you, Fausta/^ said I, “that the Per- 
sians conceive not the full strength of the Roman army? 
Your eye can now measure their respective forces. 

“ It is too plain, alas I said Fausta. “ If the Persians 
should defeat the army now formed, there is another within 
the trenches to be defeated afterward. Now they move 
again. Righteous gods, interpose in our behalf !’ 

At this moment inde^ the whole Persian army put itself 
into quick and decisive motion, as if determined to dare all 
— and achieve all for their ally, if fate should so decree. It 
was a sight beautiful to behold, but of an interest too pain- 
ful almost to be endured. The very existence of a city and 
an empire seemed to hang upon its issues; and here, look- 
ing on and awaiting the decisive moment, was as it were 
the empire itself assembled upon the walls of its capital 
wfith which, if it should fall, the kingdom would also fall, 
and the same ruin cover both. The Queen herself was 
there to animate and encourage by her presence, not only 
the hearts of all around, but even the distant forces of the 
Persians, who, from their position, might easily behold the 
whole extent of the walls and towers, covered with an in- 
numerable multitude of the besieged inhabitants, who, by 
waving their hands, and by every conceivable demonstra- 
tion, gave them to feel more deeply than they could other- 
wise have done, how much was depending upon their skill 
and bravery. 

Soon after the last movement of the Persians, the hght 
troops of either army encountered, and by a discharge of 
arrows and javelins, commenced the attack. Then in a 
few moments, it being apparently impossible to restrain 
the impatient soldiery, the battle became general. The 
cry of the onset and the clash of arms fell distinctly upon 
our ears. Long, long, were the opposing armies mingled 
together in one undistinguisliable mass, waging an equal 


106 


ZEN'OBIA. 


%ht. No^v it would sway toward the one side, and now 
toward the other, heaving and bending as a field of ripe 
ffrain to the fitful breeze. Fausta sat with clinched hands 
and straining eye, watching the doubtful fight, and waiting 
the issue in speecliless agony. A deep silence, as of night 
and death, held the whole swarming multitude of the citi- 
zens, who hardly seemed as if they dared breathe while what 
seemed the final scene was in the act of being peifoimed. 

Suddenly a new scene, and more terrific because nearei, 
burst upon our sight. At a signal given, by Zenobia from 
the high tower which she occupied, the gates below us flew 
open, and Zabdas, at the head of all the flower of the 
Palmyra cavalry, poured forth, followed closely from this 
and the other gates by the infantry. The battle now rapd 
between the walls and the Eoman intrenchments as well as 
beyond. The whole plain was one field of battle and slaugh- 
ter. Despair lent vigor and swiftness to the horse and 
foot of Palmyra; rage at the long-continued contest, re- 
venge for all they had lost and endured., nerved the Roman 
arm, and gave a double edge to its sword. ^ Never before, 
my Curtius, had I beheld a fight in which every blow 
seemed so to carry with it the whole soul, boiling with 
wrath, of him who gave it. Death sat upon every arm. 

“ Lucius!"" cried Fausta. I started, for it had been long 
that she had uttered not a word. 

“ Lucius! unless my eye grows dim and lies, which the 
gods grant, the Persians! look! they give way— is it not so? 
Immortal gods, forsake not my country!"" 

“The battle may yet turn,"" I said, turning my eyes 
where she pointed, and seeing it was so — ^ despair not, 
dear Fausta. If the Persians yield— see, Zabdas has 
- mounted the Roman intrenchments."" • 

‘‘Yes— they fly,"" screamed Fausta, and would madly 
have sprung over the battlements, but that I seized and 
held her. At the same moment a cry arose that Zabdas 
was slain — her eye caught his noble form as it fell back- 
ward from his horse, and with a faint exclamation, 
“ Palmyra is lost!"" fell lifeless into my arms. 

While I devoted myself to her recovery, cries of distress 
and despair fell from all quarters upon my ear. And when 
I had succeeded in restoring her to consciousness, the fate 
of the day was decided— the Persians were routed— the 


ZEKOBIA. 


107 

Palmyrenes were hurrying in wild confusion before the 
pursuing Homans, and pressing into the gates. 

‘ Lucius/" said Fausta, “lam sorry for this weakness. 
Hut to^ sit as it were chained here, the witness of such dis- 
aster, is too much for mere mortal force. Could I but 
have mingled in that fight! Ah, how cruel the slaughter 
01 those flying troops! Why do they not turn, and at least 
die with their faces toward the enemy? Let us now go and 
seek Calpurnius and Gracchus."" 

We can not yet, Fausta, for the streets are thronged 
with this fl3dng multitude. "" 

“ It is hard to remain here, the ears rent, and the heart 
tom by these shrieks of the wounded and dying. How 
horrible this tumult! It seems as if the world were expir- 
ing. There— -the gates are swinging upon their hinges; 
they are shut. Let us descend. "" 

We forced our way as well as we could through the 
streets, crowded now with soldiers and citizens— the sol- 
diers scattered and in disorder, the citizens weeping and 
alarmed — some hardly able to drag along themselves, others 
sinking beneath the weight of the wounded, whom they bore 
upon their shoulders, or upon lances and shields as upon a 
litter. The way was all along obstructed by the bodies of 
men and horses who had there fallen and died, their 
wounds allowing them to proceed no further, or who had 
been run down and trampled to death in the tumult and 
hurry of the entrance. 

After a long and weary struggle, we reached the house 
of Gracchus — still solitary — for neither he nor Calpurnius 
had returned. The slaves gathered around us to know the 
certainty and extent of the evil. When they had learned 
it, their sorrow for their mistress, whom they loved for 
her own sake, and whom they saw overwhelmed with grief, 
made them almost forget that they only were suffering 
these things who had inflicted a worse injury upon them- 
selves. I could not but admire a virtue which seemed of 
double luster from the circumstances in which it was 
manifested. 

Calpurnius had been in the thickest of the fight, but had 
escaped unhurt. He was near Zabdas when he fell, and 
revenged his death by hewing down the soldier who had 
pierced him with his lance. 

“ Zabdas,"" said Calpurnius, when in the evening we re- 


ZENOBIA. 


108 

called the sad events of the day, was not instantly killed 
by the thrust of the spear, but falling backwp-d from his 
horse, found strength and life enough remaining to raise 
himself upon his knee, and cheer me on, as I flew to re- 
venge his death upon the retreating Roman, As I returned 
to him, having completed my task, he had sunk upon the 
ground, but was still living, and his eye bright with its 
wonted fire. I raised him in my arms, and hfting him 
upon my horse, moved toward the gate, intending to brifig 
him within the walls. But he presently entreated me to 
d-Gsisfc 

“ ‘ I die," said he;’‘ it is all in vain, noble Piso. Lay 
me at the root of this tree, and that shall be my bed and 
its shaft my monmment." 

“ I took’him from the horse as he desired. 

‘‘ ‘ Place me," said he, ‘ with my back against the tree, 
and my face toward the intrenchments, that while I live I 
may see the battle. Piso, tell the Queen that to the last 
hour I am true to her. It has been my glory in life to 
live but for her, and my death is a happiness, dying for 
her. Her image swims before me now, and over her hov- 
ers a winged victory. The Romans fly— I knew it would 
]^0 go — the dogs can not stand before the cavalry of Pal- 
— ^they never could — they fled at Antioch. Hark ! there 
are the shouts of triumph — bring me my horse — Zenobia! 
live and reign forever!" 

‘‘ With these words and in this happy delusion, his head 
fell upon his bosom, and he died. I returned to the .con- 
flict; but it had become a rout, and I was borne along with 
the rushing throng toward the gates. "" 

After a night of repose and quiet, there has come another 
day of adversity. The hopes of the city have again been 
raised, only again to be disappointed. The joyful cry was 
heard from the walls in the morning, that the Saracens 
and Armenians with united forces were in the field. Com- 
ing so soon upon the fatiguing duty of the last day, and 
the Roman army not having received re-enforcements f roni 
the West, it was believed that the enemy could not sustain 
another onset as fierce as that of the Persians. I hastened 
once more to the walls— Fausta being compelled by Grac- 
chus to remain within the palace — to witness as I believed 
another battle. 

The report I found true. The allied forces of those na- 


ZEKOBIA. 


109 


tions were in sight — the Romans were already drawn from 
their encampment to encounter them. The same policy 
was pursued on their part as before. They awaited the ap- 
proach of the new enemy just on the outer side of their 
works. The walls and towers as far as the eye could reach 
were again swarming with the population of Palmyra. 

For a long time neither army seemed disposed to move. 

“ They seem not very ready to try the fortune of another 
day, ’^ said a citizen to me standing by my side. “ Nor do 
I wonder. The Persians gave them rough handling. A 
few thousands more on their side, and the event would not 
have been as it was. Think you not the sally under Zabdas 
was too long defer red 

“ It is easy afterward, I replied, ‘‘ to say how an action 
should have been performed. It requires the knowledge 
and wisdom of a god never to err. There were different 
judgments I know, but for myself I believe the queen was 
right; that is, whether Zabdas had left the gates earlier or 
later, the event would have been the same.^^ 

What means that?’^ suddenly exclaimed my compan- 
ion; see you yonder herald bearing a flag of truce, and 
proceeding from the Roman ranks? It bodes no good to 
Palmyra. What think you the purpose is?^^ 

“ It may be but to ask a forbearance of arms for a few 
hours, or a day perhaps. Yet it is not the custom of Rome. 
I can not guess. ’ 

“ That can 1 /^ exclaimed another citizen on my other 
side. Neither in the Armenians nor yet the Saracens 
can so much trust be reposed as in a Christian or a Jew. 
They are for the strongest. Think you they have com-^ to 
fight? Not if they can treat to better purpose. The 
Romans, who know by heart the people of the whole earth, 
know them. Mark me, they will draw never a sword. As 
the chances are now, they will judge the Romans winners, 
and a little gold will buy them.'’'’ 

‘‘ The gods forbid,^'’ cried the other, that it should be 
so; they are the last hope of Palmyra. If they fail us, we 
must e^en throw open our gates, and take our fate at the 
mercy of Aurelian.^^ 

“ Never while I have an arm that can wield a sword, 
shall a gate of Palmyra swing upon its hinge to let in an 
enemy." 


no 


ZENOBIA. 


‘‘Food already grows sliort/^ said the first; ‘‘better 
yield than starve/^ 

“ Thou, friend, art in no danger for many a day, if, as 
is fabled of certain animals, thou canst live on thine own 
fat. Or if it came to extremities, thou wouldst make a 
capital stew or roast for others.'’^ 

At which the surrounding crowd laughed heartily, while 
the fat man, turning pale, slunk away and disappeared. 

“ That man,^^ said one, “ would betray a city for a full 
meal. ^ 

“ I know him well,^^ said another; “ he is the earliest at 
the markets, where you may always see him feeling out 
with his fat finger the parts of meats that are kindred to 
himself. His soul, could it be seen, would be of the form 
of a fat kidney. His riches he values only as they can be 
changed into food. Were all Palmyra starved, he, were 
he sought, w^ould be found in some deep-down vault, 
bedded in the choicest meats — enough to stand a yearns 
siege, and leave his paunch as far about as ^tis to-day. 
See, the Queen betrays anxiety. The gods shield her from 
harm 

Zenobia occupied the same post of observation as before. 
She paced to and fro with a hasty and troubled step the 
narrow summit of the tower, where she had placed herself. 

After no long interval of time, the Eoman herald was 
seen returning from the camp of the Armenians. Again 
he sallied forth from the tent of Aurelian, on the same er- 
rand. It was too clear now that negotiations were going 
on which might end fatally for Palmyra. Doubt, fear, 
anxiety, intense expectation kept the multitude around me 
in breathless silence, standing at fixed gaze, like so many 
figures of stone. 

They stood not long in this deep and agonizing suspense; 
for no sooner did the Roman herald reach the tents of the 
allied armies, and hold brief parley with their chiefs, than 
he again turned toward the Roman intrenchments at a 
quick pace, and at the same moment the tents of the other 
party were struck, and while a part commenced a retreat, 
another and larger part moved as auxiliaries to join the 
camp of Aurelian. 

Cries of indignaton, rage, grief and despair, then burst 
from the miserable crowds, as with slow and melancholy 
steps they turned from the walls to seek again their homes.. 


ZENOBIA. 


Ill 


Zenobia was seen once to clasp her hands, turning her face 
toward the heavens. As she emerged from the tower and 
ascended her chariot, tlie enthusiastic throngs failed not to 
testify their unshaken confidence and determined spirit of 
devotion to her and her throne, by acclamations that seemed 
to shake the very walls themselves. 

This last has proved a heavier blow to Palmyra than the 
former. It shows that their cause is regarded by the 
neighboring powers as a losing one, or already lost, and 
that hope, so far as it rested upon their friendly interposi- 
tion, must be abandoned. The city is silent and sad. Al- 
most all the forms of industry having ceased, the inhabi- 
tants are doubly wretched through their necessary idleness; 
they can do little but sit and brood over their present dep- 
rivations, 'and utter their dark bodings touching the 
future. They who obtained their subsistence by minister- 
ing to the pleasures of others, are now the first to suffer; 
for there are none to employ their services. Streets, which 
but a little while ago resounded with notes of music and 
the loud laughter of those who lived to pleasure, are now 
dull and deserted. The brilliant shops are closed, the 
fountains forsaken, the Porticos solitary, or they are fre- 
quented by a few who resort to them chiefly to while away 
some of the melancholy hours that hang upon their hands. 
And they who are abroad seem not hke the same people. 
Their step is now measured and slow — the head bent — no 
salutation greets the passing stranger or acquaintance, or 
only a few cold words of inquiry, which pass from cold lips 
into ears as cold. Apathy — lethargy — stupor — seem fast 
settling over all. They would indeed bury all, I beheve, 
were it not that the parties of the discontented increase in 
number and power, which compels the friends of the Queen 
to keep upon the alert. The question of surrender is now 
openly discussed. ‘‘ It is useless,’^ it is said, “ to hold out 
longer. Better make the best terms we can. If we save 
the city by an early capitulation from destruction, coming 
off with our lives and a portion of our goods, it is more than 
we shall get if the act be much longer postponed. Every 
day of delay adds to our weakness, while it ^ds also to the 
vexation and rage of the enemy, who the more and longer 
he suffers, will be less mclined to treat us with indulgence. 

These may be said to have reason on their side, but the 
other party are inflamed Avith .national pride and devotion 


112 


ZENOBIA. 


to Zenobia^ and no power of earth is sufficient to bend 
them. They are the principal party for numbers; much 
more for rank and political power. They will hold out till 
the very last moment — till it is reduced to a choice between 
death and capitulation; and, on the part of the Queen and 
the great spirits of Palmpa, death would be their unhesi- 
tating choice, were it not for the destruction of so many 
with them. They will therefore, until the last loaf of 
bread is divided, keep the gates shut; then throw them 
open, and meet the terms, whatever they may be, which 
the power of the conqueror may impose. 

A formidable conspiracy has been detected, and the sup- 
posed chiefs of it seized and executed. 

The design was to secure the person of the Queen, obtain 
by a violent assault one of the gates, and sallying out, de- 
liver her into the hands of the Romans, who, with her in 
their power, could immediately put an end to the contest. 
There is little doubt that Antiochus was privy to it, although 
those who suffered betrayed him not, if that were the fact. 
But it has been urged with some force in his favor, that 
none who suffered would have felt regard enough for him 
to have hesitated to sacrifice him, if by doing so they could 
have saved their own lives or others. 

Zenobia displayed her usual dauntless courage, her clem- 
ency, and her severity. The attack was made upon her, 
surrounded by her small body-guard, as she' was returning 
toward evening from her customary visit of observation to 
the walls. It was sudden, violent, desperate; but the loy- 
alty and bravery of the guards was more than a match for 
the assassins, aided too by the powerful arm of the Queen 
herself, who was no idle spectator of the fray. It was a 
well-laid plot, and but for an accidental addition which 
was made at the walls to the Queen^s guard, might have 
succeeded; for the attack was made just at the Persian 
gate, and the keeper of the gate had been gained over. 
Had the guard been overpowered but for a moment, they 
would have shot the gate too quickly for the citizens to have 
roused to her rescue. Such of the conspirators as were not 
slain upon the spot were secured. Upon examination, 
they denied the participation of others than thernseUes in. 
the attempt, and died, such of them as were executed, in- 
volving none in their ruin. The Queen would not permit 


ZENOBIA. 


113 

a general slaughter of them, though urged to do so. The 
ends of justice and the safety of the city, she said, 
would be sufficiently secured, if an, example were made 
of such as seemed manifestly the chief movers. But there 
should be no indulgence of the spirit of revenge."^ Those 
ac^rdingly were beheaded, the others imprisoned. 

While these long and weary days are passing away, 
Gracchus, Fausta, Calpurnius and myself are often at the 
palace of Zenobia. The Queen is gracious, as she ever is, 
but laboring under an anxiety and an inward sorrow, that 
imprint themselves deeply upon her countenance, and re- 
veal themselves in a greater reserve of manner. While she 
is not engaged in some active service she is buried in 
thought, and seems like one revolving difficult and per- 
plexing questions. Sometimes she breaks from these mo- 
ments of reverie with some sudden question to one or an- 
other of those around her, from which we can obscurely 
conjecture the subjects of her meditations. With Longi- 
nus, Otho, and Gracchus she passes many of her hours in 
deep deliberation. At times, when apparently nature cries 
out for relief, she will join us as we sit diverting our minds 
by conversation upon subjects as far removed as possible 
from the present distresses, and will, as formerly, shed the 
light of her penetrating judgment upon whatever it is we 
discuss. But she soon falls back into herself again, and 
remains silent and abstracted, or leaves us and retreats to 
her private apartments. 

Suddenly the Queen has announced a project which fills 
the city with astonishment at its boldness, and once more 
lights up hope within the bosoms of the most desponding. 

Soon as her own mind had conceived and matured it her • 
friends and counselors were summoned to receive it from 
her, and pronounce their judgment. Would that I could 
set before you, my Curtius, this wonderful woman as she 
stood before us at this interview. Never before did she 
seem so great, or of such transcendent beauty — if under 
such circumstances such a thought may be expressed. 
Whatever of -melancholy had for so long a time shed its 
gloom over her features was now gone. The native fire of 
her eye was restored and doubled, as it seemed, by the 
thoughts which she was waiting to express. A spirit greater 
than even her own, appeared to animate her, and to breathe 


ZENOBIA. 


114 

an unwonted majesty into lier form, and over her counte- 
She greeted all with the warmth of a inend, and be- 
sought them to hear her while she presented a view of the 
present condition of their atfairs, and then proposed what 
she could not but believe might still prove a means of finul 
deliverance — at least, it might deserve their careful consid- 
eration. After having gone over the course that had been ) 
pursued and defended it, as that alone which became the 
dignity and honor of a sovereign and independent powei, 
she proceeded thus: 

“ We are now, it is obvious to all, at the last extremity. 
If no new outlet be opened from the difficulties which en- 
viron us, a few days will determine our fate. We must 
open our gates and take such mercy as our conquerors may 
bestow. The provision laid up in the public granaries is 
nearly exhausted. Already has it been found necessary 
greatly to diminish the amount of the daily distribution. 
Hope in any power of our own seems utterly extinct; if any 
remain, it rests upon foreign interposition, and of this I do 
not despair. I still rely upon Persia. I look with confi- 
dence to Sapor for further and yet larger succors. In the 
former instance, it was apprehended by many — I confess I 
shared the apprehension— that there would be on the part 
of Persia but a parade of friendship, with nothing of real- 
ity. But you well know it was far otherwise. There was 
a sincere and vigorous demonstration in our behalf. Per- 
sia never fought a better field, and with slightly larger 
numbers would have accomplished our rescue. My propo- 
sition is, that we sue again at the court of Sapor — no, not 
again, for the first was a free-will offering— and that we 
fail not, I would go myself my own embassador, and solicit 
what so solicited, my life upon it, will not be refused. 
You well know that I can bear with me jewels gathered 
during a long reign of such value as to plead eloquently in 
my cause, since the tithe of them would well repay the Per- 
sian for all his kingdom might suffer for our sakes/' 

‘‘ What you propose, great Queen,” said Longinus, as 
Zenobia paused, ‘‘ agrees with your whole life. But how 
can we, who hold you as we do, sit in our places and allow 
you alone to encounter the dangers of such an enterprise? 
Por without danger it can not be — from the robber of the 
desert, from the . Roman, from the Persian. In disguise 


ZEKOBIA. 


115 

and upon the road/ you may suffer the common fate of 
tiiose who travel where, as now, marauders of all nations 
swarm; Sapor may, in his capricious policy, detain you 
prisonm-; Aurelian may intercept. Let your servants pre- 
vail with you to dismiss this thought from your mind. You 
can name no one of all this company who will not plead to 
be your substitute. " 

There was not one present who did not spring upon his 
feet, and express his readiness to undertake the charge. 

‘‘I thank you all,"" said the Queen, “ but claim, in this 
perhaps the last act of my reign, to be set free in your in- 
dulgence to hold an unobstructed course. If in your honest 
judgments you confess that of all who could appear at the 
court of Sapor, I should appear there as the most powerful 
pleader for Palmyra, it is all I ask you to determine. Is 
such your judgment.^"" 

“ It is,"" they all responded — ‘‘ without doubt it is. "" 

“ The^n am I resohed. And the enterprise itself you 
jud^ge wise and of probable success?"" 

‘‘ We do. The reasons are just upon which it is founded. 
It is greatly conceived, and the gods giving you safe con- 
duct to Sapor, we can not doubt a happy result."" 

‘‘ Then all that remains is, to contrive the manner of 
escape from the city and through the Roman camp."’ 

‘‘ There is first one thing more,"" said the Princess Julia, 
suddenly rising from her mother"s side, but with a forced 
and trembling courage, “ which remains for me to do. If 
there appear any want of maidenly reserve in what I say, 
let the cause, good friends, for which I speak and act, be 
my excuse. It is well known to you who are familiar with 
the councils of the state, that not many months past Persia 
sought through me an alliance with Palmyra. But in me, 
you, my mother and Queen, have hitherto found an un- 
complying daughter — and you. Fathers, a self-willed Prin- 
cess. I now seek what before I have shunned. Although 
I know not the Prince Hormisdas — report speaks worthily 
of him — but of him I think not — ^yet if by the offer of my- 
self I could now help the cause of my country, the victim 
is rea:iy for the altar. Let Zenobia bear with her not only 
the stones torn from her crown, but ‘this which she so often 
has termed her living jewel, and if the others, first prof- 
fered, fail to reach the Persian "s heart, then, but not till 
then, add the other to the scale. If it weigh to buy deliv- 


116 


ZENOBIA. 


eran(^ and prosperity to Palmyra-tliough I can “ejer be 
happy— yet I shall be happy if the cause of happiness to 

^°“My noble child!” said Zenobia, “lean not have so 
startled the chiefs of Palmyra by a new ^nd unth^ght^of 
proieot, as I am now amazed in my turn. I dieamed not 
of this. But I can not hinder you m your purpose. It 
insures success to your country; and to be the 
of that, will be a rich compensation for even the laigest 
sacrifice of private affections. ” , 

The counselors and senators who were present expressed 
a great, and I doubt not sincere unwillingness that so dan- 
gerous a service should be undertaken by those whrai ey 
so loved, and whom beyond all others they would shield 
with their lives from the very^ shadow of harm. they 

were overcome by the determined spirit both of the Queen 
and Julia, and by their own secret conviction that it was 
the only act in the power of mortals by which the existence 
of the empire and city could be preserved. 

At this point of the interview, Calpurnius, whom we had 
missed, entered, and learning what had passed, announced 
that by a channel not to be mistrusted, he had received in- 
telligence of a sudden rising in Persia, of the assassination 
of Sapor, and the elevation of Hormisdas to the throne ot 
his father. This imparted to all the liveliest pleasure, and 
seemed to take away from the project of the Queen every 
remaining source of disquietude and doubt. Calpurnius 
at the same moment was besought, and offered himselt to 
serve as the Queen^s companion and guide. The chosen 

friend of Hormisdas, and whose friendship he had not for- 
feited by his flight— no one could so well as he advocate her 

cause with the new king. ^ v.- 

“ But how is it,^ Mnquired Longinus,^^ that you obtain 
foreign intelligence, the city thus beset?"' ^ 

‘‘ It may well be asked," replied Calpurnius. It is 
through the intelligence and cunning of a Jew well known 
in Palmyra, and throughout the world I believe, called 
Isaac. By him was I rescued from Persian captivity, and 
through him have I received letters thence, ever since the 
city has been besieged. He is acquainted with a subter- 
ranean passage — in the time of Trajan, he has informed 
me, a public conduit, but long since much choked and 
(try — by which one may pass from the city under and be- 


ZENOBIA. 


117 


yond the lines of the Roman intrenchments, emerging into 
a deep ravine or fissure, grown thickly over with vines and 
olives. ^ Once it was of size sufficient to admit an elephant 
with his rider; now, he says, has it become so obstructed, 
and in some places so fallen in, that it is with difficulty that 
a dromedary of but the common size can force his wav 
through. 

“ Through this then the Queen may effect her escape,"^ 
said Longinus. 

With perfect ease and security,^' rejoined Calpurnius. 

At the outlet, Isaao shall be in waiting with the fleetest 
dromedaries of the royal stables." 

“We are satisfied," said Longinus; “ let it be as you 
say. The gods prosper the pious service!^^ 

So ended the conversation. 

Of the ancient aqueduct or conduit, you have already 
heard from me; it is the same by which Isaac has trans- 
mitted my late letters to Portia — which I trust you have 
received and read. To Portia alone— be not offended — do 
I pour out my whole soul. Prom her learn more of what 
relates to the Prhicess. 

I returned from the palace of Zenobia overwhelmed with 
a thousand painful sensations. But this I need not say. 

Fausta, upon learning the determination of the Queen, 
which had been communicated not even to her, exclaimed 
— “ There, Lucius, I have always told you Palmyra brought 
forth women! Where in the wide world shall two be found 
to match Zenobia and Julia? But when is the time fixed 
for the flight?" 

“ To-morrow night. 

“ I will to the palace. These may be the last hours 
permitted by the gods to our friendship. I must not lose 
one of them.^^ 

I went not there again. 

Late on the evening of the following day Fausta returned 
— her countenance betraying what she had suffered in part- 
ing from those two, her bosom friends. It was long ere 
she could possess herself so far as to give to Gracchus and 
myself a narrative of what had occurred. To do it, asked 
but few words. 

“We have passed the time," she said at length, “ as 
you might suppose those would about to be separated — for- 
ever; yes, I feel that I have seen them for the last time. 


ZENOBIA. 


118 

It is like a conviction inspired by the gods. We did 
naught till the hour of attiring for the flight arrived, but 
sit, look upon each other, embrace and weep. Not that 
Zenobia, always great, lost the true command of herself, or 
omitted aught that should be done; but that she was a 
woman, and a mother, and a friend, as well as a Queen 
and a divinity. But I can say no more.^^ 

“ Yet one thing, she suddenly resumed; alas! I had 
well nigh forgotten it — it should have been said flrst. 
What think you? the Indian slave, Sindarina, was to ac- 
company the Queen, but at the hour of departure she was 
missing. Her chamber was empty — the Arabian disguise, 
in which all were to be arrayed, lying on her bed — she her- 
self to be found neither there nor anywhere within the pal- 
ace. Another of the Queen ^s women was chosen in her 
place. What make you of it?^^ 

‘‘Treason! treachery!"" cried Gracchus, and springing 
from his seat, shouted for a horse. • 

“ The gods forgive me,"" cried the afflicted Gracchus, 
“ that this has been forgotten! Why, why did I not lay 
to heart the hints which you dropped!"" 

“ In very truth,"" I replied, “ they were almost too slight 
to build even a suspicion upon. The Queen heeded them 
not— and I myself had dismissed them from my mind not 
less than yourself. "" 

“ Not a moment is to be lost,"" said Gracchus; “ the 
slave must be found, and all whom we suspect seized."" 

The night was passed in laborious search, both of the 
slave and Antiochus. The whole city was abroad in a 
common cause. All the loose companions of Antiochus and 
the young princes were taken and imprisoned; the suspect- 
ed leaders' in the affair, after a scrutinizing search and 
public proclamation, could not be found. The inference 
was clear, agonizing as clear, that the Queen"s flight had 
been betrayed. 

Another day has revealed the whole. Isaac, who acted 
as guide through the conduit, and was to serve in the same 
capacity till the party were secure within a Persian fort- 
ress, not far from the banks of the Euphrates, has, by a 
messenger, a servant of the palace, found means to convey 
a relation of what befell after leaving Palmyra. 

“Soon,"" he says, “as the shades of evening fell, the 


ZEKOBIA. 


119 

Queen, the Princess Julia, Nicliomachus, a slave, and 
Calpurnius, arrayed in the garb of Arabs of the desert, 
together with a guard of ten soldiers, selected for their 
bravery and strength, met by different routes at the mouth 
of the old conduit. So noble a company had I never be- 
fore the charge of. Thou wouldst never have guessed the 
Queen through the veil of her outlandish garment. She 
.became it well. Not one was more a man than she. For 
the Princess, a dull eye would have seen through her. En- 
tering a little way in utter darkness, I then bid them stand 
while I lighted torches. The Queen was near me the while, 
and asked me the length of the passage, and whether the 
walls were of that thickness as to prevent the voice from 
being heard. 

‘ Till we reach one particular spot, where the arch is 
partly fallen in,^ I said, ‘ we may use our tongues as freely 
and as loud as we please; at that place there will be a need 
of special caution, as it is directly beneath the Roman in- 
trenchments. Of our approach thereto I will ffive timely 
warning.^ 

I took occasion to say that I was sorry the Queen of 
Palmyra should be compelled to pass through so gloomy a 
cavern, but doubtless he who was with Deborah and Judith 
would not forsake her who was so fast a friend to his peo- 
ple, and who, if rumor might be believed, was even herself 
one of them. This, Roman, you will doubtless think bold; 
but how could one who was full refrain? I even added, 

‘ Fear not; he who watches over Judah and Israel, will not 
fail to appear for one by whose arm their glories are to be 
restored. ^ The Queen at that smiled, and if a countenance 
may be read, which I hold it can, as well as a book, it 
spoke favorable things for Jerusalem. 

“ When our torches were kindled, we went on our way; 
a narrow way and dark. We went in silence too, for I 
quickly discerned that minds and hearts were too busy with 
themselves and their own sorrows and fears to choose to be 
disturbed. Ah, Roman, how many times harder the lot 
of the high than the low! When we drew nigh to the 
fissure in the arch, the torches were again extinguished, 
and we proceeded at a snaiFs pace and with a hyena^s foot 
while* we were passing within a few feet of the then, as I 
doubted not, sleeping Romans. As we came beneath the 
broken and open part, I was startled by the soimd of 


120 


ZENOBIA. 


voices. Soldiers were above conversing. As we paused 
through apprehension, a few words were distinctly heard. 

‘ The time will not bear it/ muttered one. ^ '’Tis a 
vain attempt.’ 

‘‘ ‘ His severity is cruel/ said another. ‘ Gods! when 
before was it heard of, that a soldier, and such a one, for 
what every one does whom chance favors, should be torn 
limb from limb? The trees that wrenched Stilcho asun- 
der, ere they grow too stiff, may serve a turn on “ Hand-to- 
his-Sword ” himself. He will fatten on these starved citi- 
zens when he climbs over their walls. ’ ^ 

“ ‘ Oh no, by Jupiter!’ said the first, ‘ it is far likelier 
he will let them off, as he did at Tyana, and we lose our 
sport. It is his own soldiers’ blood he loves. ’ 

“ ‘ He may yet learn,’ replied the other, ‘ that soldiers 
wear weapons for one purpose as well as another* Hark! 
what noise was that?’ 

‘‘ ‘ It was but some rat at work within this old arch. 
Come, let us to bed.’ 

“ They moved away, and we, breathing again, passed 
along, and soon relighted our torches. 

“ After walking a weary distance from this point, and 
encountering many obstacles, we at length reached the 
long-desired termination. The dromedaries were in readi- 
ness, and mounting them without delay, we ascended the 
steep sides of the ravine, and then at a rapid pace sought 
the open plains. When they were attained, 1 considered 
that we were out of all danger from the Romans, and had 
only to apprehend the ordinary dangers of this route dur- 
ing a time of war, when freebooters of all the neighboring 
trmes are apt to abound. ‘ Here,’ I said to the Queen, 
‘ we will put our animals to their utmost speed, as the 
way is plain and smooth — having regard only, ’I added, 
‘to your and the Princess’s strength.’ ‘On, on, in the 
name of the gods!’ said they both; ‘ we can follow as fast 
as you shall lead.’ And on we fiew with the speed of the 
wind. The Queen’s animals were like spirits of the air, 
with such amazing fieetness and sureness of foot did they 
shoot over the surface of the earth. The way was wholly 
our own. We met none; we saw none. Thrice we paused 
to relieve those not accustomed to such speed, or to the 
peculiar motion of this animal. But at each resting place, 
the Queen with impatience hastened us away, saying, that 


2EN0BIA. 


121 

‘ rest could be better had at once when we had crossed the 
river; and once upon the other bank, and we were safe. ’ 

ihe hrst flush of morning was upon the sky as we 
came within sight of the valley of the Euphrates! The 
liver was Itself seen faintly gleaming as we wound down 

j a gentle hill. The country here was broken, as 
iMiad been for many of the last miles we had rode — divid- 
ed by low ridges, deep ravines, and stretches of wood and 
Ousli. bo that to those approaching the banks in the same 
general direction, many distinct paths offered themselves. 
It was here, oh, Piso, just as we reached the foot of this lit- 
tle hill, riding more slowly by reason of the winding road, 
that my quick ear caught at a distance the sounds of other 
hoots upon the ground beside our own. My heart sunk 
Witnin me a sudden faintness spread over my limbs. But 
at the instant I gave the alarm to our troop, and at great- 
est risk of life and limb we put our beasts to their extreme 
speed, and dashed toward the river. I still, as we rode 
turning my ear in the direction of the sound, heard with 
distinctness the clatter of horses^ hoofs. Our beasts were 
dromedaries; in that lay my hope. Two boats awaited us 
among the rushes on the river's bank, in the keeping of 
those who had been sent forward for that purpose; and off 
against them, upon the other side of the stream, lay a 
small Persian village and fortress. Once off in the boats 
but ever so short a distance, and we were safe. On we 
flew, and on I was each moment conscious came pursuers 
whoever they might be. We reached the river's edge! 

Quick, for your lives,' I cried. ‘ The Queen, the Prin- 
cess, and four men in this boat; the packages in the 
other.' In a moment and less than that, we were in our 
boat, a troop of horse at the same instant sweeping like a 
blast of the desert down the bank of the river. We shot 
into the stream; but ere the other could gain the' water, 
the Romans, as we now too plainly* saw them to be, were 
upon them. A brief but desperate strife ensued. The 
Romans were five for one pf the others, and quickly put- 
ting them to the sword, sprung into their boat. 

‘‘ ‘ Pull! pull!' cried the Queen, the first words she had 
uttered, ‘ for your lives and Palmyra!' They gained upon 
us. We had six oars, they eight. But the strength of 
three seemed to nerve the arm of Calpurnius. 

‘‘ ‘ Immortal gods!' cried he, in inexpressible agony. 


122 


ZEKOBIA. 


‘ they near us!’ and straining with redoubled energy his oar 
snapped, and the boat whirled from her course. 

'^^All is lost!’ ejaculated Zenobia. ^ 

“ A Koman voice was now heard, ‘ Yield you, and your 

lives are safe.’ ^ ^ 

‘‘ ‘ Never,’ cried Calpurnius, and as the Koman boat 
struck against ours, he raised his broken oar, and aiming 
at him who had spoken, lost his balance and plunged head- - 

long into the stream. v j. xu- 

‘^‘Save him— save him!’ cried the Queen, but they 
heeded her not. ‘ It is vain to contend,’ she cried out 
again; ‘ we yield, but save the life of him who has fallen. 

“ The light was yet not sufficient to see but to a little dis- 
tance. Nothing was visible upon the smooth surface or 
the water, nor any sound heard. 

‘ His own rash fury hath destroyed him, said the 
Roman, who we now could discern bore the rank of Oen- 

geek,’ said he, turning toward where the Queen 
sat, ‘ we seek Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra.’ 

“‘lam Zenobia,’ said the Queen. , , ^ . 

“ ‘ The gods be praised therefor!’ rejoined the Centuriom 
‘ Our commands are to bear you to the tent of Aurelian. 

“ ‘ Do with me as you list,’ replied the Queen; ‘ I am in 

your power.’ , _ n ^ x 

“ ‘ To the shore,’ exclaimed the Roman; and our boat, 
fastened to the other, was soon at the place whence but a 
moment before it had parted. 

“ ‘ Who are these?’ asked the Centurion, as we reached 
the shore, pointing to the Princess, and the attendant slave 
and secretary. ‘ Our orders extend only to the person of 
the Queen. ’ 

“ ‘ Divide them not,’ I said, willing to spare the Queen 
the bandying of words with a Roman soldier, ‘ they are of 
the Queen’s family. They are a part of herself. If thou 
takest one take all to thy Emperor.’ 

“ ‘ So be it; and now to your horses, and once more over 
the plain. It shall go hard, but that what we carry with 
us will make our fortune with Aurelian.’ ^ 

“ Saying this, the whole troop formed, placing Zenobia 
and Julia in the midst, and winding up the banks of the 

river disappeared. . 

“ Such, oh unhappy Piso, was this disastrous night. 


ZENOBIA. 


123 


T done on our part to secure a successful issue 

more “7 not have been 

mS tl7n? “7f of Arabia, 

n nat thenf H^h there not been, think you, foul nlav? 

but Komans knowledge, not only of our fLh^t 

H ®K ^oTP 7 ^or which we aimed?^ I doubt Ct 

lien f nut? treachery— and that too of the very color of 

hell. Look to It, and let not the guilty go free. 

non t’oe word touching thy brother. Despond not. I 

the 7°^ 1 ? were but a furlong from 

shore. My belief is, that seeing the capture of the 
Queen was certain, and that to him, if taken with her in 
country, death was inevitable, he, when 
“ Tbp?f ^ ?? distance, and will yet be found, 

the rabone ^ send in haste by a returning servant of 

w«s:r- L";s'"zrrsff 

tTth mftfpal^y^.”"'^"™"^’ ^ 

Here, my Curtius, was food for meditation and ffrief— 
so^lafrAn®"^ capital and kingdom, 

wnrM admiration of the 

magnificence that cast into 
shade Persia itself, is m one short night shorn of all her 

captive, my brother, so late redeemed— as I can not but 
suppose— dead. I need not nor can I tell you with what 
emotions I ipad the fatal letter. The same messenger who 
delivered it to me had spread through the city the news of 
the Queen s captivity. What related to Calpurnius I de- 
teTminel to conceal from Pausta, since it was at least pos- 
suffLiug ^ communicating it I might cause a useless 

upon learning the horrors of the night, which 
she first did from the outcries and lamentations in the 
streets, seemed more like one dead than alive. She could 
not weep; the evil was too great for tears. And there 
being no other way in which to give vent to the grief that 
wrung her soul in every feeling and affection, I trembled 
lest reason should be hurled from its seat. She wandered 
f rom room to room, her face of the hue of death— but in- 
aicatmg life enough in its intense expression of inward pain 
—and speechless, save that at intervals in a low tone. 


ZENOBIA. 


124 

“Zenobia! Palmyra!” fell from her scar^ly moving lip& 
To Giacchus and myself essaying to divert hei fr 
thoughts that seemed to prey upon her very .J'!®’ 

“ Leave me to wrestle alone with my grief; it is the way to 
strcnfifth. I do not doubt that I shall find it. 

“ She is right,” said Gracchus; “ to overcome she must 
fight her own battle. Our aid but ministers to her weak- 

^*It was not long before she rejoined us, tears having 

brought relief to her overburdened heart. ^ 

Her first inquiry now was for Calpurmus. I have 
feared to ask, for if he too is captive, I know that he is 
lost. Now I can hear and bear all. How is it, Lucius. 

I answered, that “ he was not a captive, so “"ch w^ 
known; but where he now was, or what had befallen him, 
was not known. I had reason to believe that he would 
find his way back through the guidance of Isaac to tne 

Alas' I read in your words his fate. But I will not 
urge vou further. I will live upon all the hope I can keep 
alive. Yet it is not the death of Calpurmus— nor yet of 
Zenobia— nor Julia^that wrings the soul and saps its life, 
like this bitter, bitter disappointment, this base treason ot 
Antiochus. To be so near the summit of our best hopes, 
only to be cast down into this deep abyss — that is the sting 
in our calamity that shoots deepest, and for which there is 
no cue. Is there no other way, father, in which we can 
explain the capture of the Queen? Accident—could it not 
be accident that threw the troop of Aurelian in their way. ^ 

‘‘ I fear not,"" said Gracchus. “ When we add what 
rumor has heretofore reported of the aims of Antiochus, 
but which we have all too much contemned hini to believe 
him capable of, to what has now occurred, I think we can 
not doubt that he is the author of the evil, seducing into 
his plot the Queen"s slave, through whom he received in- 
telligence of every plan and movement."" ^ 

“ Ah, cruel treachery! How can one join together the 
sweet innocent face of Sindarina and such deep hypociisy! 
Antiochus surely must have perverted her by magic arts. 
Of that I am sure. But what fruit can Antiochus hope 
his treason shall bear for him? Can he think that Palmyra 

will endure his rule?"" , , . , mt, 

“ That,"" replied Gracchus, “ must be his hope. The 


ZENOBIA. 


125 


, party of the discontented we well know to be large- upon 
them he tlnnks he may rely. Then his treason recom- 
mending him to Aurelian, he builds upon his power to 
establish him upon the throne, and sustain him there till 
his own strength shall have grown, so that he can stand 
alone. That the city will surrender upon the news of the 
Queen s captivity, he doubtless calculates upon as cer- 
‘‘ May his every hope,^^ cried Fausta, “ be blasted, and 
a little of the misery he has poured without stint into our 
hearts wring his own, and when he cries for mercv, mav 
he find none!'" . . 

“ One hope," I said here, “ if I know aught of the nat- 
ure of Aurelian, and upon which he must chiefly found his 
protect, will sink under him to his shame and ruin. " 

What mean you.^" said Fausta eagerly. 

His belief that Aurelian will reward baseness though 
to an enemy. He never did it yet, and he can not do it. 
Were there within the thick skull of Antiochus the brains 
of a foolish ostrich, he would have read in the fate of 
Heraclammon, the rich traitor of Tyana, his own. If I err 
not, he has indiscreetly enough thrust himself into a lion's 
den. ^ If Aurelian is fierce, his is the grand and terrific 
ferocity of the king of beasts. " 

May it be so!" said Fausta. There were no provi- 
dence in the gods did such villainy escape punishment, 
still less, did it grow great. But if Aurelian is such as you 
-describe him. Oh, then is there not reason in the belief that 
he will do gently by her? Were it compatible with great- 
ness or generosity — and these, you say, belong to the Em- 
peror — to take revenge upon an enemy, thrown by such 
means into his power? and such an enemy? and that too 
a woman? Julia too! Oh, immortal gods, how bitter past 
drinking is this cup!" 

“ Yet must you, must we, not lean too confidently upon 
the dispositions of Aurelian. He is subject, though 
supreme, to the state, nay, and in some sense to the army; 
and what he might gladly do of his own free and generous 
I nature, policy and the contrary wishes and sometimes re- 
, quisitions of his troops, or of the people, compel him to 
forbear. The usage of Borne toward captive princes has 
been, and is, cruel. Yet the Emperor does much to modify 
it, giving it, according to his own temper, a more or less 


126 


ZENOBIA. 


savage character. And Aurelian has displayed great in- 
dependence in his acts, both of people and soldiers. There 
is much ground for hope — but it must not pass into confi- 
dent expectation. 

‘‘You, Lucius, in former days have known Aurelian 
well, before fortune raised him to this high^^emmencb. 
You say you were his friend. Could you not — 

“No. I fear with scarce any hope of doing good. My 
residence here during all these troubles will, I doubt not, 
raise suspicions in the mind of Aurelian which it will not 
be easy to allay. But whenever I shall have it in my power 
to present myself before him, I shall not fail to press upon 
him arguments which, if he shall act freely, can not I 
think but weigh with him.^^ 

“ Ought not the city now,"" said Fausta, addressing 
Oracchus, to surrender, and, if it can do no better, 
throw itself upon the mercy of Aurelian? I see not now 
what can be gained by longer resistance, and would not a 
still protracted refusal to capitulate, and when it must be 
without the faintest expectation of ultimate success, tend 
merely and with certainty to exasperate Aurelian, and 
perhaps embitter him toward the Queen?"" 

“ I can scarcely doubt that it would,"" replied Gracchus. 
“ The city ought to surrender. Soon as the first flood of 
grief has spent itself, must we hasten to accomplish it if 
possible. Longinus, to whom will now be entrusted the 
chief power, will advocate it I am sure— so will Otho, 
Seleucus, Gabrayas; but the army will, I fear, be opposed 
to it, and will, more through a certain pride of their order 
than from any principle, incline to hold out. It is time 
I sought Longinus. "" 

He departed in search of the Greek. I went forth into 
the streets to learn the opinions and observe the behavior 
of the people. 

The shades of night are around me — the palace is still — 
the city sleeps. I resume my pen to add a few words to 
this epistle, already long, but they are words that convey so 
much that I can not but add them for my own pleasure 
not less than yours. They are in brief these — Calpurnius 
is alive and once again returned to us. The conjecture of 
Isaac was a description of the truth. My brother, knowing 
well that if apprehended his death were certain, had in the 


ZEKOBIA. 


127 

outset resolved, if attacked, rather to provoke liis death, 
and insure it in the violence of a conflict, than be reserved 
lor the ax of the Koman executioner. But in the short 
moment in which he fell headlong into the river, it flashed 
across his mind — The darkness favors my escape — I can 
reach the shore/" so swimming a short distance below the 
surface, falling down with the stream and softly rising, - 
concealed himself among the reeds upon the margin of the 
stream. Finding the field in a short time wholly in posses- 
sion of Isaac, he revealed himself and joined him, return- 
ing to the city as soon as the darkness of the night per- 
mitted.^ Here is a little gleam of light breaking through 
Tausta"s almost solid gloom. A smile has once more- 
played over her features. 

In the evening after Calpurnius"s return, she tried her 
harp, but the sounds it gave out only seemed to increase 
her^ sorrow, and she threw it from her. 

‘‘ Music,"" said Gracchus, is in its nature melancholy, 
and how, my child, can. you think to forget or stifle grief 
by waking the strings of your harp, whose tones, of all 
ether instruments, are the most melancholy. And yet 
sometimes sadness seeks sadness, and finds in it its best re- 
lief. But now, Fausta, rather let sleep be your minister 
and nurse. "" 

So we parted. Farewell. 


LETTER XV. 

It were a vain endeavor, my Curtius, to attempt to de- 
: scribe the fever of indignation, and rage, and grief, that 
burned in the bosoms of this unhappy people, as soon as it 
was known tliat their Queen was a captive in the hands of 
the Romans. Those imprisoned upon suspicion of liaving 
been concerned in her betrayal would have been torn from 
their confinement, and sacrificed to the wrath of the citi- 
zens, in the first hours of their excitement, but for the 
formidable guard by which the prisoners were defended. 
The whole population seemed to be in the streets and pub- 
lic places, giving and receiving with eagerness such intelli- 
' gence as could be obtained. Their affliction is such as it 
I would be had each one lost a parent or a friend. The men 
rave, or sit, or wander about listless and sad; the women 


128 


ZENOBIA. 


weep; children catch the infection, and lament as for the 
greatest misfortune that could have overtaken them. The 
soldiers, at first dumb with amazement at so unlooked-ioi^ 
and unaccountable a catastrophe, afterward, upon learning 
that it fell out through the treason of Antiochus, bound 
themselves by oaths never to acknowledge or submit to his 
authority, though Aurelian himself should impose hirn 
upon them, nay, to sacrifice him to the violated honor of 
the empire, if ever he should fall into their power. 

Yet all are not such. The numbers are not contemptible 
of those who, openly or secretly, favor the cause and ap- 
prove the act of Antiochus. He has not committed so 
great a crime without some prospect of advantage from it, 
nor without the assurance that a large party of the citizens, 
though not the largest, is with him, and will adhere to his 
fortunes. These are they, who think, and Justly think, 
that the Queen has sacrificed the countiy to her insane 
ambition and pride. They cleave to Antiochus, not from 
personal regard toward him, but because he seems more 
available for their present purposes than any other, prin- 
cipally through his foolhardy ambition; and, on the other 
hand, they abandon the Queen, not for want of personal 
affection, equal perhaps to what exists in any others, but 
because they conceive that the power of Rome is too mighty 
to contend with, and that their best interests rather than 
any extravagant notions of national honor, ought to 
prompt their measures. 

The city will now give itself up, it is probable, upon the 
first summons of Aurelian. The council and the senate 
have determined that to hold out longer than a few days 
imore is impossible. The provisions of the public granaries 
are exhausted, and the people are already beginning to be 
pinched with hunger. The rich, and all who have been 
enabled to subsist upon their own stores> are now engaged 
in distributing what remains among the poorer sort, wdio 
are now thrown upon their compassion. May it not be 
that I am to be a witness of a people dying of hunger! 
Gracchus and Fausta are busily employed in relieving the 
wants of the suffering. 

We have waited impatiently to hear the fate of the 
Queen. Many reports have prevailed, founded upon what 
has been observed from the walls. At one time, it has 
been said that she had perished under the hands of the exe- 


ZEKOBIA. 


129 


cutioner — at another, that the whole Roman camp had been 
seen to be thrown into wild tumult, and that she had 
doubtless fallen a sacrifice to . the ungovernable fury of the 
licentious soldiery. I can not think either report probable. 
Aurelian, if he revenged himself by her death, would re- 
serve her for execution on the day of his triumph. But he 
would never tarnish his glory by such an act. And for the 
soldiers — I am sure of nothing more than that they are 
under too rigid a discipline, and hold Aurelian in too great 
terror, to dare to commit a violence like that which has 
been imputed to them. 

At length — for hours are months in such suspense — we 
are relieved. Letters have come from Nichomachus to 
both Longinus aiid Livia. 

First, their sum is, the Queen lives! 

I shall give you what I gather from them. 

‘‘When we had parted, writes the secretary, “from 
the river^s edge, we were led at a rapid pace over" the same 
path w^e had just come, to the neighborhood of the Roman 
camp. I learned from what I overheard of the conversa- 
tion of the Centurion with his companion at his side, that 
the flight of the Queen had been betrayed. But beyond 
that, nothing. 

“We were taken not at once to the presence of Aurelian, 
but lodged in one of the abandoned palaces in the outskirts 
of the city — that of Seleucus, if I err not — where, the Queen 
being assigned the a23artments needful for her and her 
effects, a guard was set around the building. 

“ Here we had remained not long, yet long enough for 
the Queen to exchange her disguise for her usual robes, 
when it was announced by the Centurion that we must 
proceed to the tent of the Emperor. The Queen and the 
Princess were placed in a close litter, and conveyed secretly 
there, out of fear of the soldiers, ‘ who,^ said the Cen- 
turion, ‘ if made aware of whom we carry, would in their 
rage tear to fragments and scatter to the winds both the 
litter and its bur&n. 

“We were in this manner borne through the camp to 
the tent of Aurelian. As we entered, the Emperor stood 
at its upper end, surrounded by the chief persons of his 
army. He advanced to. meet the Queen, and in his chang- 
ing countenance and disturbed manner might it be plainly 
seen how even an Emperor, and he the Emneror of the 

5— 2d half. 


130 


ZENOBIA. 


worlds felt the presence of a majesty such as Zenobia^s* 
Ana never did our great mistress seem more a Queen than 
now — not through that commanding pride which, when 
upon her throne, has impressed all who have approached 
her with a feeling of inferiority, but through a certain dark 
and solemn grandeur that struck with awe, as of some 
superior being, those who looked upon her. There was no 
sign of grief upon her countenance, but many of a deep 
and rooted sadness, such as might never pass away. No 
one could behold her and not lament the fortune that had 
brought her to such a pass. Whoever had thought to en- 
joy the triumph of exulting over the royal captive, was re- 
buked by that air of calm dignity and profound melan- 
choly, which even against the will, touched the hearts of 
all, and forced their homage. 

“ ‘ It is a happy day for Eome,^ said Aurelian, approach- 
ing and saluting her, ‘ that sees you, lately Queen of 
Palmyra and of the East, a captive in the tent of Aure- 
lian. •’ 

‘ And a dark one for my afflicted country,^ replied the 
Queen. 

‘‘ ‘ It might have been darker,^ rejoined the Emperor, 

‘ had not the good providence of the gods delivered yon 
into my hands. ^ 

‘ The gods preside not over treachery. And it must 
have been by treason among those in whom I have placed 
my most familiar trust, that I am now where and what I 
am. I can but darkly surmise by whose baseness the act 
has been committed. It had been a nobler triumph to you, 
Koman, and a lighter fall to me, had the field of battle de- 
cided the fate of my kingdom, and led me a prisoner to 
your tent.’’ 

‘‘ ‘ Doubtless it had been so,^ replied Aurelian; ‘ yet was 
it for me to cast away what chance threw into my power? 
A war is now happily ended, which, had your boac reached 
the further bank, of the Euphrates, might yet have raged — 
and but to the mutual harm of two great nations. Yet it 
was both a bold and sagacious device, and agrees well with 
what was done by you at Antioch, Emesa, and now in the 
defense of your city. A more determined, a better ap- 
pointed, or more desperate foe, I have never yet contended 
with. ^ 

“ ^ It were strange, indeed," replied the Queen, ‘ if you 


ZEKOBIA. 


131 


foe, when life and liberty were 
to be defended. Had not treason, base and accursed trea- 
son, given me up like a chained slave to your power, yonder 
a Is must have first been beaten piecemeal down by your 
buried me beneath their ruins, and famine 
clutched all whom the sword had spared, ere we had owned 
’ independence 

But why, let me ask,^ said Aurelian, ‘ were you moved 
to assert an independency of Borne? How many peaceful 
and ppsperous years have rolled on since Traian and the 
Antonines, while you and Borne were at harmony; a part 
of us and yet independent; allies rather than a subiect 
province; using our power for your defense; yet ownW 
no allegiance. Why was this order disturbed? AVhat mad- 
against the power of Bome?^ 

The same madness," replied Zenobia, ‘that tells 
Aurelian he may yet possess the whole world, and sends 
nim here into the far East to wage needless war with a 
woman— Ambition! Yet had Aurelian always been upon 
the Boman throne, or one resembling him, it had perhaps 
been different. There then could have been naught but 
honor in any alliance that had bound together Borne and 
Balmyra. But was I, was the late renowned Odenatus, to 
f to base souls such as Aureolus, Gallienus, 

Bahsta? While the thirty tyrants were fighting for the 
Boman crown, was I to sit still, waiting humbly to become 
Bie mssive prey of whosoever might please to call me his? 
By the imniortal gods, not so! I asserted my supremacy 
and made it felt; and in times of tumult and confusion to 
Borne, while her Eastern provinces were one scene of dis- 
cord and civil broil, I* came in and reduced the jarring ele-’ 
ments, and out of parts broken and sundered, and hostile, 
constructed a fair and well-proportioned whole. And 
when once created, and I had tasted the sweets of sovereign 
and despotic power — what they are thou knowest — was I 
tamely to yield the whole at the word or threat even of 
Aurelian? It could not be. So many years as had passed 
and seen me Queen, not of Palmyra only, but of the East 
— a sovereign honored and courted at Borne, feared by 
Persia, my alliance sought by all the neighboring dominions 
of Asia— had served but to foster in me that love of rule 
which descended to me from a long line of kings. Sprung 


132 


ZEKOBIA. 


from a royal line, and so long upon a throne, it was superior 
force alone — divine or human — that should drag me from 
my right. Thou hast been but four years king, Aurelian, 
monarch of the great Eoman world, yet would st thou not, 
but with painful unwillingness, descend and mingle with 
the common herd. For me, ceasing to reign, I would 

cease to live.'’ . 

‘ Thy speech,'’ said Aurelian, * shows thee well worthy 
to reign. It is no treason to Rome, Cams, to lament that 
the fates have cast down from a throne, one who filled its 
seat so well. Hadst thou hearkened to the message of 
Petronius, thou mightest still, lady, have sat upon thy na- 
tive seat. The crown of Palmyra might still have girt thy 
brow. •’ 

“ ‘ But not of the East/ rejoined the Queen. 

‘ Fight against ambition. Cams! thou seest how, by 
aiming at too much, it loses all. It is the bane of human- 
ity. When I am dead, may ambition then die, nor rise 
again. ^ 

‘“May it be so,'’ replied his general; ‘ it has greatly 
cursed the world. It were better perhaps that it died now.^ 

‘“It can not," replied Aurelian; ‘ its life is too strong. 
I lament too, great Queen, for so I may well call thee, that 
upon an ancient defender of our Roman honor, upon her 
who revenged Rome upon the insolent Persian, this heavy 
fate should fall. I would willingly have met for the first 
time in a different way the brave conqueror of Sapor, the 
avenger of the wrongs and insults of the virtuous Valerian. 
The debt of Rome to Zenobia is great, and shall yet, in 
some sort at least, be paid. Curses upon those who moved 
thee to this war. They have brought this calamity upon 
thee. Queen, not I, nor thou. What ill-designing aspir- 
ants have urged thee on? This is not a woman’s war." 

“ ‘ Was not that a woman’s war," replied the Queen, 
‘ that drove the Goths from upper Asia? Was not that a 
woman’s war that hemmed Sapor in his capital, and seized 
his camp? and that which beat Heraclianus, and gained 
thereby Syria and Mesopotamia? and that which worsted 
Probus, and so won the crown of Egypt? Does it ask for 
more, to be beaten by Romans, than to eonquer these? 
Rest assured, great prince, that the war was mine. My 
people were indeed with me, but it was I who roused, fired 
and led them on. I had indeed great advisers. Their 


ZENOBIA. 


133 


names are known throughout the world. Why should I 
name the renowned Longinus, the princely Gracchus, the 
invincible Zabdas, the honest Otho? Their names are 
honored in Eome as well as here. They have been with 
me; but without lying or vanity, I may say I have been 
their head. ^ 

‘‘ ‘ Be it so; nevertheless, thy services shall be remem- 
bered. But let us now to the affairs before us. The city 
has not surrendered — though thy captivity is known, the 
gates still are shut. A word from thee would open them. ^ 

“ ‘ It is a word I can not speak,’ replied the Queen; her 
countenance expressing now, instead of sorrow, indignation. 

‘ Wouldst thou that I too should turn traitor?’ 

“ ‘ It surely would not be that,’ replied the Emperor. 

‘ It can avail naught to contend further — it can but end in 
a wider destruction, both of your people and my soldiers.’ 

‘ Longinus, I may suppose,’ said Zenobia, ‘ is now su- 
preme. Lftt the Emperor address him, and what is right 
will be done.’ 

“ Aurelian turned, and held a brief conversation with 
some of his officers. 

‘‘ ‘ Within the walls,’ said the Emperor, addressing the 
Queen, ‘ thou hast sons. Is it not so?’ 

“ ‘ It is not they,’ said the Queen quickly, her counte- 
nance growing pale, ‘ it is not they, nor either of them, 
who have conspired against me!’ 

“‘No — not quite so. Yet he who betrayed thee calls 
himself of thy family. Thy sons surely were not in league 
with him. Soldiers,’ cried the Emperor, ‘ lead forth the 
great Antiochus, and his slave.’ 

‘ ‘ At his name, the Queen started — the Princess uttered 
a faint cry, and seemed as if she would have fallen. 

“ A fold of the tent was drawn aside, and the huge form 
of Antiochus appeared, followed by the Queen’s slave, her 
head bent down and eyes cast upon the ground. If a look 
could have killed, the first glance of Zenobia, so full of a 
withering contempt, would have destroyed her base kins- 
man. He heeded it but so much as to blush and turn 
away his face from her. Upon Sindarina the Queen gazed 
with a look of deepest sorrow. The beautiful slave stood 
there where she entered, not lifting her head, but her 
bosom rising and falling with some great emotion — con- 
scious, as it seemed, that the Queen’s look was fastened 


134 


ZENOBIA. 


upon her, and fearing to meet it. But it was so only for a 
moment, when raising her head, and revealing a counte- 
nance swollen with grief, she rushed toward the Queen, 
and threw herself at her feet, embracing them, and cover- 
ing them with kisses. Her deep sobs took away all power 
of speech. The Queen only said, ‘ My poor Sindarina!' 

‘^The stern voice of Aurelian was first heard, ‘ Bear 
her away — bear her from the tent. ^ 

“ A guard seized her, and forcibly separating her from 
Zenobia, bore her weeping away. 

‘‘ ‘ This," said Aurelian, turning now to Zenobia, ‘ this 
is thy kinsman, as he tells me — the Prince Antiochus?" 

“ The Queen replied not. 

‘ He has done Rome a great service. " Antiochus 
raised his head, and straightened his stooping shoulders. 

‘ He has the merit of ending a weary and disastrous war. 
It is a rare fortune to fall to any one. "Tis a work to 
grow great upon. Yet, Prince," turning to Antiochus, 
^the work is not complete. The city yet holds out. If I 
am to reward thee with the sovereign power, as thou say- 
est, thou must open the gates. Canst thou do it?" 

“ ‘ Great Prince," replied the base spirit eagerly, ‘ it is 
provided for. Allow me but a few moments, and a place 
proper for it, and the gates I warrant shall quickly swing 
upon their hinges. " 

‘‘ ‘ Ah! do you say so? That is well. What, I pray, is 
the process?" 

‘‘ ‘ At a signal which I shall make, noble Prince, and 
which has been agreed upon, every head of every one of 
the Queen "s party rolls in the dust — Longinus, Gracchus, 
iind his daughter, Selecus, Gabrayas, and a host more — 
their heads fall. The gates are then to be thrown open." 

“ ‘ Noble Palmyrene, you have the thanks of all. Of 
the city then we are at length secure. For this, thou 
wouldst have the rule of it under Rome, wielding a scepter 
in the name of the Roman Senate, and paying tribute as a 
subject province? Is it not so?" 

‘ ‘ It is. That is what I would have, and would do, 
most excellent Aurelian. " 

‘‘ ^ Who are thy associates in this? Are the Queen" s 
sons, Herennianus, Timolaus, Vabalathus, of thy side, and 
partners in this enterprise?" 

‘ They are not privy to the design to deliver up to thy 


ZENOBIA. 


m 


great power the Queen their mother; but they are my 
fi lends, and most surely do I count upon their support. 
As I shall return king of Palmyra, they will gladly share 
my power. 

‘‘ ‘ But if friends of thine, they are enemies of mine,^ 
rejoined Aurelian, in terrific tones; ‘ they are seeds of fut- 
ure trouble; they may sprout up into kings also, to 
Rome's annoyance. They must be crushed. Dost thou 
understand me?' 

‘‘ ‘ I do, great Prince. Leave them to me. I will do 
for them. But to say the truth, they are too weak to dis- 
turb any — friends or enemies. ' 

‘ Escape not so. They must die,' roared Aurelian. 

‘ They shall — they shall,' ejaculated the alarmed An- 
tiochus; ‘ soon as I am within the walls their heads shall 
be sent to thee. ' 

‘ That now is as I would have it. One thing more 
thou hast asked — that the fair slave who accompanies thee 
be spared to thee, to be thy Queen.' 

‘‘ ‘ It was her desire — hers, noble Aurelian, not mine. ' 

‘ But didst thou not engage to her as much?' 

< Truly I did. Bi^jt among princes such words are but 
politic ones; that is well understood. Kings marry for the 
state. I would be higher matched ;' and the sensual demon 
cast his eyes significantly toward the Princess Julia. 

‘^‘Am I understood?' continued Antiochus, Aurelian 
making no response. ' The Princess Julia I would raise 
to the throne. ' The monster seemed to dilate to twice his 
common size, as his mind fed upon the opening glories. 

“ Aurelian had turned from him, looking first at his 
Roman attendants, then at the Queen and Julia — his 
countenance kindling with some swelling passion. 

‘‘ ‘ Do I understand thee?' he then said. ‘ I understand 
thee to say that for the bestowment of the favors and hon- 
ors thou hast named, thou wilt . do the things thou hast 
now specifically promised? Is- it not so?' 

‘ It is, gracious king.' 

“ ^ Dost thou swear it?' 

‘‘ ‘ I swear it by the great God of Light!' 

“ The countenance of the Emperor now grew black with 
as it seemed mingled fury and contempt. Antiochus 
started, and his cheek paled. A little light reached his thick 
brain. 


136 


ZENOBIA. 


‘‘ ‘ Eomans/ cried Aurelian, ‘ pardon me for so abusing 
your ears! And you, our royal cai3tives! I knevv not that 
such baseness lived— still less that it was here. Thou foul 
stiff ma upon humanity! Why opens not the ^rth under 
thee, but that it loathes and rejects thee! Is a Roman like 
thee, dost thou think, to reward thy unheard-of treach- 
eries^ I'hou knowest no more what a Roman is, than 
what truth and honor are. Soldiers! seize yonder nnscre- 
ant, write traitor on his back, and spurn him forth the 
camp. His form and his soul both offend alike. Hence, 
monster!^ 

‘‘ Antiochus was like one thunder-struck. Trembling 
in every joint, besought to appeal to the Emperor^ s mercy, 
but the guard stopped his mouth, and dragged him from 
the tent. His shrieks pierced the air as the soldiers 
scourffed him beyond the encampment. 

^ It was not for me,^ said Aurelian, as these ceased to 
be heard, ‘to refuse what fate threw into my hands. 
Thouffh I despise the traitorous informer, I could not shut 
my ear to the facts he revealed, without myself betraying 
the interests of Rome. But, believe me, it was informa- 
tion I would willingly have spared. My infamy were as 
his to have rewarded the traitor. Rear not, great Queen; 
I pledge the word of a Roman and an Emperor for thy 
safety. Thou art safe both from Roman and Palmyrene.' 

“ ‘ AVhat I have but now been witness of,' replied the 
Queen, ‘ assures me that in the magnanimity of Aureilan I 
may securely rest.' 

“ As the Queen uttered these words, a sound as of a dis- 
tant tumult, and the uproar of a multitude, caught the 
ears of all within the tent. 

“ ‘ What mean these tumultuous cries?' inquired Aure- 
lian of his attending guard. ‘ They increase and approach. ' 

“ ‘ It may be but the soldiers at their game with Antio- 
ehus,' replied Probus. 

“ But it was not so. At the moment a Centurion, 
breathless, and with his head bare, rushed madly into the 
tent. 

“ ‘ Speak,' said the Emperor, ‘ what is it?' 

“ ‘ The legions!' said the Centurion, as soon as he could 
command his words, ‘ the legions are advancing, crying 
out for the Queen of Palmyra! They have broken from 


ZENOBIA. 


vsr 

their camp and their leaders, and in one mixed body come 
to surround the Emperor^s tent. " 

“ As he ended, tlie fierce cries of the enraged soldiery 
were distinctly heard, like the roaring of a forest torn by 
a tempest. Aurelian, baring his sword, and calling upon 
ms friends to do the same, sprung toward the entrance of 
the tent. They were met by the dense throng of the sol- 
diers, who now pressed against the tent, and whose savage 
yells now could be heard— 

The head of Zenobia. ^ ‘ Deliver the Queen to our 
will. ‘ Throw out the head of Zenobia, and we will re- 
turn to our quarters. " — ‘ She belongs to us. 

At the same moment the sides of the tent were thrown 
up, showing the whole plain filled with the heaving multi- 
tude, and being itself instantly crowded with the ringlead- 
ers and their more desperate associates. Zenobia, sup- 
porting the Princess, who clung to her, and pale through 
a just apprehension of every horror, but otherwise firm and 
undaunted, cried out to Aurelian, ‘ Save us, oh. Emperor, 
from this foul butchery!^ 

^ We will die else!^ replied the Emperor; who with 
the word, sprung upon a soldier making toward the Queen, 
and with a blow clove him to the earth. Then swinging 
round him that sword which had drunk the blood of thou- 
sands, and followed by the gigantic Sandarion, by Probus, 
and Cams, a space around the Queen was soon cleared. 

‘‘ ‘ Back, ruffians,^ cried Aurelian, in a voice of thunder, 

‘ for you are no longer Romans! back to the borders of the 
tent. There I will hear your complaints. The soldiers 
fell back, and their ferocious cries ceased. 

‘‘ ‘ Now,'’ cried the Emperor, addressing them, ^ what is 
your will, that thus in wild disorder you throng my tent.^^ 

“ One from the crowd replied — ' Our will is that the 
Queen of Palmyra be delivered to us as our right, instantly. 
Thousands and thousands of our bold companions lie buried 
upo?i these accursed plains, slain by her and her fiery en- 
gines. We demand her life. It is but justice, and faint 
justice too.^ 

‘‘ ‘ Her life!^ — ^ Her life!^ — arose in one shout from the 
innumerable throng. 

‘‘ The Emperor raised his hand, waving liis sword drop- 
ping with the blood of the slain soldier; the noise subsided; 


ZEIfOBIA. 


138 

and liis voicG, clear and loud like the tone of a tiumpet, 
went to the furthest bounds of the multitude. ^ 

“ ‘ Soldiers/ he cried, ‘ you ask for justice; and justice 
you shall have. ‘ Aurelian is ever just!^ cried many 
voices.— ‘ But you shall not have the life of the Queen ot 
Palmyra.'— He paused; a low murmur went through the 
crowd. — ‘ Or you must first take the life of your Emperor, 

• and of these who stand with him. '—The soldiers were silent. 

‘ lu asking the life of Zenobia,' he continued, ‘ you know 

not what you ask. Are any here who went with Valerian 
to the Persian war?' A few voices responded, ‘ I was there 
—and I— and I.'— ‘ Are there any here whose parents, or 
brothers, or friends fell into the tiger clutches of the bm’- 
barian Sapor, and died miserably in hopeless captivity?'— 
Many voices everywhere throughout the crowd were heard 
in reply, ‘ Yes, yes. — Mine were there, and mine.' — ‘ Did 
you ever hear it said,' continued Aurelian, ‘ that Rome 
lifted a finger for their rescue, or for that of the good Va- 
lerian?'— They were silent, some crying, ‘No, no.' — 

^ Know, then, that when Rome forgot her brave soldiers and 
her Emperor, Zenobia remembered and avenged them; and 
Rome fallen into contempt with the Persian, was raised 
to her ancient renown by the arms of her ally, the brave 
Zenobia, and her dominions throughout the East saved 
from the grasp of Sapor only by her valor. AVhile Gallienus 
wallowed in sensuality and forgot Rome, and even his own 
great father, the Queen of Palmyra stood forth, and with 
her royal husband, the noble Odenatus, was in truth the 
savior of the empire. And is it her life you would have? 
Were that a just return? Wefe that Roman magnanim- 
ity? And grant that thousands of your brave companions 
lie buried upon these plains: it is but the fortune of war. 
Were they not slain in honorable fight, in the siege of a 
city, for its defense unequaled in all the annals of war? 
Can not Romans honor courage and conduct, though in 
an enemy? But you ask for justice. I have said you shall 
have justice. You shall. It is right that the heads and 
advisers of this revolt, for such the senate deems it, should 
be cut off. It is the ministers of princes who are the true 
devisers of a nation's acts. These, when in our power, 
shall be yours. And now, who, soldiers! stirred up this 
mutiny, bringing inexpiable shame upon our brave le- 
gions? Who are the leaders of the tumult?' 


ZENOBIA. 


13 ^ 


Enough were found to name them: 

^‘‘Firmus! Carinus! the Centurions Plancus! Tatius^ 
Burrhus! Valens! Crispinus!"^ 

Guards! seize them and hew them down. Soldiers! to 
your tents. ^ The legions fell back as tumultuously as they 
had come together; the faster, as the dying groans of the 
slaughtered ringleaders fell upon their ears. 

‘‘ The tent of the Emperor was once more restored to 
order. After a brief conversation, in which Aurelian ex- 
pressed his shame for the occurrence of such disorders in 
the presence of the Queen, the guard were commanded to 
convey back to the palace of Seleucus, whence they had been 
taken, Zenobia and the Princess. 

Such are the principal matters contained in the commu- 
nications of Nichomachus. 

When the facts contained in them became known, the 
senate, the council, the army, and the people agreed in the 
belief, that the Queen^s safety and their own would now be 
best secured by an immediate capitulation. Accordingly, 
heralds bearing letters from Longinus, in the name of the 
council, proceeded to the Eoman camp. No other terms 
could be obtained than a verbal promise that the city, the 
walls, and the common people should be spared; but the 
surrender, beyond that, must be unconditional. 

Upon learning the terms prescribed by the conqueror, 
many were for further resistance. “ The language of 
Aurelian, they said, ‘‘ is ambiguous. He will spare the 
city walls, and common people. Are our senators and 
counselors to be sacrificed? Are they, who have borne the 
burden of the day, now to be selected, as the only ones 
who are to suffer? It shall not be so. ” 

Generous sentiments like these were heard on all sides. 
But they were answered and overcome, by Gracchus espe- 
cially, and others. Said Gracchus to the people, ‘‘ Doubt- 
less punishment will be inflicted by Rome upon some. Our 
resistance is termed by her, rebellion, revolt, conspiracy; 
the leaders will be sought and punished. It is ever her 
course. But this is a light evil compared with a wide- 
spread massacre of this whole population, the destruction 
of these famous temples, the leveling of these proud walls. 
Aurelian has said these shall be spared. His word, though 
an unwritten and informal one, may be trusted. My coun- 
sel is, that it be at once accepted. What if a few gray 


140 


ZENOBIA. 


heads among us are taken off? That will not touch the 
existence or prosperity of Palmyra. You can spare them. 
YYur children will soon grow up to take our jnaces, and 
fill them, I hope, with a better wisdom. 

But such words only served at first the more to strengthen 
the people in ther resolution, that their rulers should not 
be the only sacrifice. None were loved throughout the city 
more than Gracchus and Otho, none revered like Longinus. 
It was a long and painful struggle between affection and 
the convictions of reason before it ended, and the consent 
of the people was obtained to deliver up the city to the 
mercy of Aurelian. But it was obtained. ^ 

I was sitting with Pausta and Calpurnius, speaking ot 
the things that had happened, and of the conduct of the 
Queen, when Gracchus entered and Joined us, informing 
us that “ embassadors were now gone to the camp of Au- 
relian, clothed with authority to deliver up the city m his 
hands. So that now the end has drawn on, and Palmyra 
ceases to exist. 

Fausta, although knowing that this must happen, and 
might at any moment, could not hear the fatal words, an- 
nouncing the death of her country, as she deemed it, and 
quenching forever in darkness the bright dreams upon 
which she had fed so long, without renewed grief. We 
were a long time silent. 

‘‘ Something yet remains,"" at length Gracchus resumed, 
“ for us to resolve upon and do. Before many hours have 
elapsed a Roman army will fill the streets of the city, per- 
haps our houses also, and a general plunder ma}’^ be com- 
menced of all the valuables we possess. It will be useless 
to conceal what it will be well enough known, from the 
manner in which we live, must be beneath our roof. It 
will but expose our lives. Y"et, Fausta, your jewels, val- 
ued by you as gifts, and other things precious for the same 
or a like reason, may easily be secreted, not yet be missed 
by the licensed robbers. See to this, my child ; but except 
this there is now naught to do concerning such affairs, but 
to sit still and observe the general wreck. But there are 
other and weightier matters to be decided upon, and that 
at once."" 

“ Concerning the care of ourselves, you mean?"" said 
Fausta. 

‘‘ I do,"" replied Gracchus. 


ZEKOBIA. 


141 


said Fausta, would remain here, where I am/^ 
It is that which I wish/^ replied her father. “ I com- 
mit you to the care of Lucius. For Calpurnius, he must 
leave you, and as he would live, fly if that yet be possible 
beyond the walls, or conceal himself within them.-’' 

‘‘ Never said Calpurnius; ‘‘ I can do neither. I have 
never shunned a danger — and I can not. ” 

“ Let pride and passion now,^^ said Gracchus, ‘‘ go fast 
aleep. We have no occasion for them; they are out of 
place, dealing as vve do now with stern necessities. Your 
life will be especially sought by Aurelian; it is a life that 
can not be spared. Fausta needs you. In you she must 
find, or nowhere, father, husband, friend. Lucius, when 
these troubles are over, will return to Fome, and I shall 
be in the keeping of Aurelian. You must live; for her 
sake, if not for your own. 

“ For mine too, surely, if for her^,^^ replied Calpurnius. 

“ Father,^-’ said Fausta, throwing her arms around him, 
‘‘ why, why must you fall into the hands of Aurelian? 
Whv not, with Calpurnius, fly from these now hated 
walis?’^ 

“ My daughter replied Gracchus, “let not your love 
of me make you forgetful of what I owe my own name and 
our country's. Am I not bound by the words of Aure- 
lian? ‘ He will spare the city and the common people ^ — 
reserving for himself their rulers and advisers. Were they 
all to fly or shrink into concealment, can we doubt that 
then the fury of the fierce Roman would discharge itself 
upon the helpless people, and men, women and children 
suffer in our stead? And shall I fly while the rest are true 
to their trust ?^^ 

“ The gods forbid!’^ sobbed Fausta. 

“Now you are yourself again. Life is of little account 
with me. For you I would willingly hold on upon it, 
though in any event my grasp would be rapidly growing 
weaker and weaker; age would come and weaken and dis- 
solve it. But for myself, I can truly say, I survey the 
prospect of death with indifference. Life is one step; death 
is another. I have taken the first, I am as ready to take 
the second. But to preserve'life, agreeable as I have found 
it, by any sacrifice — ' ^ 

“Oh, that were dying twice said Fausta; “I know 
it.^^ 


142 


ZENOBIA. 


“ Be thankful then that I shall die but once, and so dry 
your tears. Of nothing am I more clear, than that if the 
loss of my head will bring security to the city and the peo- 
ple, I can otfer it to the executioner with scarce a single 
regret. But let us leave this. But few hours remain to do 
what is yet to be done.^"’ 

It was so indeed. Already the commotion in the streets 
indicated that the entrance of the Roman army was each 
moment expected. 

It was determined that Calpurnius should avail himself 
of the old conduit, and fly beyond the walls. To this ho 
consented, though with pain, and bidding us farewell, de- 
parted. Fausta retired to fulflll the injunctions of her 
father, while Gracchus employed himself in arranging a 
few papers, to be intrusted to my keeping. 

In the course of a few hours the gates of the city were 
thrown open, and the g,rmy of the conqueror made its un- 
obstructed entrance. Soon as the walls were secured, the 
towers of the gates, and the arms of the Queen^s remaining 
forces, Aurelian himself approached, and by the Roman 
gate passed into a city that had cost him so dear to gain. 
He rode through its principal streets and squares, gazing 
with admiration at the magniflcence which everywhere met 
his view. As he arrived at the far-famed Temple of the 
Sun, and was told to what deity it was dedicated, he bared 
his head, flung himself from his horse, and on foot, fol- 
lowed by an innumerable company of Romans, ascended its 
long flight of steps, and there within its walls returned 
solemn thanks to the great God of Light, the protecting 
deity of his house, for the success that had crowned his 
arms. 

When this act of worship had been performed, and vo- 
tive offerings had been hung upon the columns of the tem- 
ple, the Emperor came forth, and after visiting and in- 
specting all that was beautiful and rare, made proclama- 
tion of his will concerning the city and its inhabitants. 
This was, that all gold and silver, precious stones, all pict- 
ures, statues, and other works of art, were to be placed in 
the hands of the Romans, and that all the members of 
the Queen's senate and council, with the nobility, were to 
be delivered up as prisoners of war, together with certain 
specified portions of the army. Beyond these requisitions, 
the persons and property of the citizens were to be re- 


ZENOBIA. 


143 

spectecl. No violence of any kind on the part of the sol- 
diers would be allowed, or pardoned if committed. 

^ Immediately upon this, the Roman army was converted 
into a body of laborers and artisans, employed in the con- 
struction of wains of every form and size, for the transpor- 
tation across the desert to the sea-coast, of whatever would 
adorn the triumph of Aurelian, or add to the riches of the 
great capital of the world. Vast numbers of elephants and 
camels were collected from the city, and from all the 
neighboring territory, with which to drag the huge and 
heavy loaded wagons through the deep sands and over the 
rough and rocky plains of Syria. The palaces of the nobies 
and the wealthy merchants have been stripped of every em- 
bellishment of art and taste. The private and public gar- 
dens, the fountains, the porticoes, have each and all been 
robbed of every work, in either marble or brass, which had 
the misfortune or the merit to have been wrought by aid*- 
ists of distinguished names. The palaces of the Queen 
and of Longinus were objects of especial curiosity and de- 
sire, and, as it were, their entire contents, after being se- 
cured with utmost art from possibihty of injury, have been 
piled upon carriages prepared for them, ready for their 
journey toward Rome. It was pitiful to look on and see 
this wide desolation of scenes, that so little while ago had 
offered to the eye all that the most cultivated taste could 
have required for its gratification. The citizens stood 
around in groups, silent witnesses of the departing glories 
of their city and nation. 

But the sight saddest of all to behold, was that of the 
senators and counselors of Palmyra, led guarded from the 
city to the camp of Aurelian. All along the streets through 
which they passed, the people stood in dumb and motion- 
less array, to testify in that expressive manner their affec- 
tion and their grief. Voices were indeed occasionally heard 
invoking the blessings of the gods upon them, or imprecat- 
ing curses upon the head of the scourge Aurelian. When- 
ever Longinus and Gracchus appeared, their names were 
uttered in the tones with which children would cry out to 
venerated parents, whom they beheld for the last time; 
beheld borne away from them by a power they could not 
resist to captivity or death. No fear of the legion that 
surrounded them availed to repress or silence such testi- 
monies of regard. And if confidence was reposed in the 


144 


ZEl^OBIA. 


Roman sol(liery, that they would not, because conquerors 
and the power was theirs, churlishly deny them the free- 
dom to relieve in that manner their overburdened hearts, 
it was not — happy was I, as a Roman, to witness it — mis- 
placed. They resented it not either by word or look or act, 
but moved on like so many statues in mail, turning nei- 
ther to the one hand nor the other, nor apparently so much 
as hearing the reproaches which were by some lavished 
upon them and their Emperor. 

Livia, Faustula, and the other inmates of the palace 
have joined Zenobia and Julia, by order of Aurelian, at the 
house of Seleucus. The Csesars, Herennianus and Timo- 
laus, have fled or concealed themselves; Vabalathus has 
surrendered himself, and has accompanied the princesses 
to the Roman camp. 

How desolate is the house of Gracchus, deprived of its 
princely head ! especially as the mind can not help run- 
ning forward and conjecturing the fate which awaits him» 
Eausta surrenders herself to her grief — loss of country and 
of parent, at one and the same moment, is loss too great 
for her to bear with fortitude. Her spirit, so alive ta 
affection and every generous sentiment, is almost broken 
by these sorrows and disappointments. I did not witness 
the parting between her and Gracchus, and happy am I 
that I did not. Her agony was in proportion to her love 
and her sensibility. I have not met her since. She re- 
mains within her own apartments, seen only by her favor- 
ite slaves. A double darkness spreads around while Eausta 
too is withdrawn. 

It appeared to me now, my Ourtius, as if something 
might be done on my part in behalf of Gracchus. Accord- 
ing to the usages of Rome, the chief persons among the 
prisoners, and who might be considered as the leaders of 
the rebellion, I knew would die either at once, or, at the 
furthest, when Aurelian should re-enter Rome as the con- 
queror of the East. 1 considered that by reason of the 
growing severity of the Emperor toward all, friends as well 
as foes — amounting, as many now deem, to cruelty — tne 
danger to Gracchus was extreme beyond any power perhaps 
to avert. Yet I remembered, at the same time, the gener- 
ous traits in Aurelian^s character; his attachment toward 
old friends; his gratitude for services rendered him in tho 
early part of his life, while making his way up through tne 


ZENOBIA. 


145 


lower posts of the army. It seemed to me that he was open 
to solicitation; that he would not refuse to hear me — a 
friend— the son of Cneius Piso— with what object soever I 
might present myself before him: and that, consequently, 
there was from this quarter a ray of hope, however small, 
for the father of our beloved Fausta. 

Accordingly, so soon as the affairs at first calling for the 
entire devotion of Aurelian were through and I knew that 
his leisure would allow of an interruption, I sought the Ho- 
man camp, and asked an audience of the Emperor. It 
was immediately granted. 

As I entered his tent, Aurelian was seated at a table 
holding in his hand a parchment scroll, which he seemed 
intently considering. His stern countenance lowered over 
it hke a thunder-cloud. I stood there where I had entered 
a few moments before he seemed aware of the presence of 
any one. His eyes then falling almost accidentally upon 
me, he suddenly rose, and with the manner of his ancient 
friendship warmly greeted me. 

‘‘I am glad,^^ said he, ‘‘ to meet so true a Roman in 
these distant parts. 

‘‘lam still a true Roman,^^ I rephed, “ notwithstand- 
ing I have been, during this siege, upon the side of the 
enemy. 

“ I doubt it not. I am not ignorant of the causes that 
led you to Palmyra, and have detained you there. Hence- 
forward your Roman blood must be held of the purest, for 
as I learn, and since I have seen can believe, they are few 
who have come within the magic circle of the late Queen, 
who have not lost their name and freedom — themselves 
fastening on the chains of her service.-’^ 

“ You have heard truly. Her court and camp are filled 
with those who at first perhaps sought her capital, as visit- 
ors of curiosity or traffic, but being once within the mar- 
velous infiuence of her presence, have remained there her 
friends or servants. She is irresistible. 

“ And well nigh so in war too. In Rome they make 
themselves merry at my expense, inasmuch as I have been 
warring thus with a woman — not a poet in the garrets of 
the Via Coeli, but has entertained the city with his couplets 
upon the invincible Aurelian, beset here in the East by an 
army of women, who seem likely to subdue him by their 
needles or their charms. Nay, the Senate looks on and 


146 


ZENOBIA. 


laughs. By the immortal gods! they know not of what 
they speak. Julius Caesar himself, Piso, never displayed a 
better genius than this woman. Twice have I saved my 
army but by stratagem. I give the honor of those days to 
Zenobia. It belongs to her rather than to me. Palmyra 
may well boast of Antioch and Emesa. Your brother did 
her good service there. I trust, for your sake and for 
1 mine, he will not fall into my hands. 

That dark and cruel frown, which marks Aurelian, grew 
above and around his eyes. 

I never, he continued, ‘‘ forgive a traitor to his coun- 
try.^^ 

‘‘ Yet,^^ I ventured to say, surely the circumstances of 
his captivity, and long abandonment, may plead somewhat 
in extenuation of his fault. 

Never. His crime is beyond the reach of pardon. 

Aurelian had evidently supposed that 1 came to seek 
favor for Calpurnius. But this I had not intended to do, 
as Calpurnius had long ago resolved never again to dwell 
within the walls of Rome. I then opened the subject of 
my visit. 

“ I have come,^'’ I said, “ not to seek the pardon of Cal- 
purnius Piso. Such, to my grief, is his hostility toward 
Rome, that he would neither seek nor accept mercy at her 
hands. He has forsworn his country, and never willingly 
will set foot within her borders. He dwells henceforward 
in Asia. But there is another — ** 

You would speak of Gracchus. It can not be. Lon- 
ginus excepted, he is the first citizen of Palmyra. If the 
Queen be spared, these must suffer. It is due to the 
army, and to justice, and to vengeance. The soldiers have 
clamored for tlve blood of Zenobia, and it has been at no 
small cost that her and her daughter's life have been re- 
deemed. But I have sworn it, they shall live; my blood 
shall fiow before theirs. Zenobia has done more for Rome 
than many an Emperor. Besides, I would that Rome 
should see with her own eyes who it is has held even battle 
with Roman legions so long, that they may judge me to 
have had a worthy antagonist. She must grace my tri- 
umph. 

“ I truly thank the gods,^^ I said, “ that it is so resolved! 
Eortune has placed me, while in her dominions, near the 
Queen, and though a Roman, I have come to love and 


ZENOBIA. 


14 ? 


revere her even like a Palmyrene. Would that the like 
clemency might be shown toward Gracchus! There is no 
greatness like mercy. 

‘'I may not, noble Piso, win glory to myself at the cost 
of Rome. On the field of battle 1 and Rome win together. 
In pardoning her enemies fallen into my power, I may in- 
deed crown myself with the praise of magnanimity in the 
eye of the world, while by the same act I wound my coun- 
try. N^o. rebellion is quelled, till the heads that moved and 
off~-off. Who is ignorant that Longinus, 
that subtle Greek, has been the master-spring in this great 
revolt? :and hand and hand with him Gracchus? Well 
should I deserve the gibes and sneers of the Roman mob, 
if I turned my back upon the great work I have achieved^ 
paving behind me spirits like these to brew fresh trouble. 
JSior, holding to this as it may seem to your harsh decision, 
am I forgetful, Piso, of our former friendship; nor of the 
helping hand often stretched out to do me service of Cneius 
Pisq, your great parent. I must trust in this to your gen- 
erosity or justice, to construe me aright. Fidelity to Rome 
must come before private friendship, or even gratitude. 
Am I understood?"^ 

‘‘ I think so. "" 


‘‘ Neither must you speak to me of Longinus the learned 
Greek — the accomplished scholar— the great philosopher. 
He has thrown aside the scholar and the philosopher in 
putting on the minister. He is to me known only as the 
Queen ^s chief adviser; Palmy ra"s strength; the enemy of 
Rome. As such he has been arrayed against me; as such 
he has fallen a prisoner into my hands; as such he must 
feel the sword of the Roman executioner. Gracchus — I 
would willingly for thy sake, Piso, spare him— the more, 
as I hear thou art betrothed to his far-famed daughter, she 
who upon the fields of Antioch and Emesa filled with 
amazement even Roman soldiers."" 

To say that instead of me it was Calpurnius to whom she 
was betrothed, would seem to have sealed the fate of Grac- 
chus at the moment there was a gleam of hope. I only 
said: 


‘‘She was the life of the Queen "s army. She falls but 
little below her great mistress. "" 

“ I believe it. These women of Palmyra are the true 
wonder of the age. When for the first time I found myself 


148 


ZEKOBIA. 


before Zenobia and her daughter, it is no shame for me to 
confess that it was hard for the moment to believe myseli 
Aurelian and conqueror. I was ready to play the subject; 
I scarce kept myself from an Oriental prostration. Never, 
Piso, was such beauty seen in Pome. Home now has an 
Empress worthy of her — unless a Roman Emperor may sue 
in vain. Think you not with me? You have seen the 
Princess Julia?^^ 

You can pity me, Curtius and Lucilia. I said^ only: 

“ I have. Her beauty is rare indeed, but by many, nay 
by most, her sister, the Princess Livia, is- esteemed before 
her.^^ ■ 

“Ha! Nay! but that can not be. The world itself 
holds not another like the elder Princess, much less the 
same household. He seemed as if he would have added 
more, but his eye fell upon the scroll before him, and it 
changed the current of his thoughts and the expression of 
his countenance, which again grew dark as when I first en- 
tered the tent. He muttered over as to himself the names 
of “ Gracchus, “ Fausta,^^ “ the very life of their cause, 

“ the people,^s chief trust, and other broken sentences of 
the same kind. He then suddenly recommenced: 

“ Piso, I know not that even I have power to grant thy 
suit. I have saved, with some hazard, the life of the Queen 
and her daughter; in doing it I promised to the soldiers, in 
their place, the best blood of Palmyra, and theirs it is by 
right. It will not be easy to wrest Gracchus from their 
hands. It will bring danger to myself, to the Queen, and 
to the empire. It may breed a fatal revolt. But, Piso, 
for the noble Portia^s sake, the living representative of 
Cneius Piso my early friend, for thine, and chiefly for the 
reason that thou art affianced to the warlike daughter of 
the princely Palmyrene — 

“Great Prince, said I — for it was now my turn to 
speak — “ pardon me that I break in upon your speech, but 
I can not by a deception, however slight and unintentional, 
purchase the life even of a friend. 

“ To what does this tend?^^ 

“ It is not I who am affianced to the daughter of Grac- 
chus, but Calpurnius Piso my brother, and the enemy of 
Rome. If my hope for Gracchus rests but where you have 
placed it, it must be renounced. Rumor has dealt falsely 
with you.^^ 


ZENOBIA. 


149 


‘ I am sorry for it. You know me, Piso, well enougli 
to believe me— I am sorry for it. That plea would have 
availed me more than any. Yet it is right that he should 
die. It is the custom of war. The legions clamor for his 
death — it has been promised— it is due to justice and re- 
venge. Piso, he must die!^^ 

1 however did not cease to importune. As Aurelian had 
spoken of Portia, I too spoke of her, and refrained not 
from bringing freshly before his memory the characters of 
both my parents, and especially the services of my father. 
The Emperor was noways displeased, but on the contrary, 
as I recurred to the early periods of his career, when he was 
a Centurion in Germany, under tutelage to the experienced 
Cneius Piso, he himself took up the story, and detained me 
long with the history of his life and actions, while serving 
with and under my father — and then afterward when in 
Gaul, in Africa, and in the East. Much curious narrative, 
the proper. source of history, I heard from the great actor 
himself, during this long interview. It was terminated by 
the entrance of Sandarion, upon pressing business with the 
Emperor, whereupon I withdrew, Gracchus not being again 
named, but leaving his fate in the hands of the master of 
the world, and yet — how often has it been so with our Em- 
perors — the slave of his own soldiers. I returned to the 
city. 

The following day I again saw Fausta — now pale, mel- 
ancholy and silent. I told her of my interview with 
Aurelian, and of its doubtful issue. She listened to me 
with a painful interest, as if wishing a favorable result, yet 
not daring to hope. When I had ended, she said: 

“ You have done all, Lucius, that can be done, yet it 
avails little or nothing. Would that Aurelian had thought 
women worthy his regard so much as to have made me a 
prisoner too. I can now feel how little one may fear death, 
dying in a certain cause. Palmyra is now dead, and I care 
no more for life. And if Gracchus is to die too, how much 
rather would I die with him than live without him. And 
this is not, as it may seem, infidelity to Oalpurnius. I love 
him better than I ever thought to have loved anything be- 
side Palmyra and Gracchus. But my love for these is from 
my infancy, and is in reason stronger than the other. The 
gods make it so, not I. I love Oalpurnius with all that is 
left. AVhen does the army depart?’^ 


150 


ZENOBIA. 


‘‘ To-morrow, as I learn. I shall follow it to Emesa, for 
it is there, so it is reported, that the fate of the prisoners 
will be decided. 

‘‘ Do so, Lucius, and by bribery, cunning, or force, find 
your way to the presence of Gracchus. Be not denied. 
Tell him — but no, you know what I would say; I can 
not — and a passionate flood of tears came to her relief. 

The preparations of the army are now completed. The 
city has been drained of its wealth and its embellishments. 
►Scarce anything is left but the wails and buildings, which 
are uninjured, the lives and the industry of the inhabitants. 
Sandarion is made Governor of the city and province, with, 
as it seems to me, a very incompetent force to support his 
authority. Yet the citizens are, as they have been since 
the day the consent was decided, perfectly peaceable — nay, 
I rather should say, stupid and lethargic. There appear 
to be on the part of Aurelian no apprehensions of future 
disturbance. 

I have stood upon the walls and watched till the last of 
the Romans has disappeared beyond the horizon. Two 
days have been spent in getting into motion and beyond 
the precincts of the city and suburbs, the army with its 
innumerable wagons — its long trains of elephants, and 
camels, and horses. Not only Palmyra, but the whole 
East, seems to have taken its departure from the Mediter- 
ranean. For the carriages were hardly to be numbered 
which have borne away for the Roman amphitheaters wild 
animals of every kind, collected from every part of Asia, 
together with innumerable objects of curiosity and works 
of art. 


LETTER XVI. 

I WHITE to you, Curtius, as from my last you were doubt- 
less led to expect, from Emesa, a Syrian town of some 
consequence, filled now to overflowing with the Roman 
army. Here Aurelian reposes for a while, after the 
fatigues of the march across the desert, and here justice is 
to be inflicted upon the leaders of the late revolt, as by 
Rome it is termed. 

The prisons are crowded with the great, and noble, and 
good, of Palmyra. All those with whom I have for the 
last few months mingled so much, whose hospitality I have 


ZENOBIA. 


151 


shared, whose taste, accomplishments, and elegant displays 
of wealth I have admired, are now here immured in dun- 
geons, and awaiting that death which their virtues, not 
their vices nor their crimes, have drawn upon them. For 
I suppose it will be agreed, that if ever mankind do that 
which claims the name and rank of virtue, it is when they 
freely otfer up their lives for their country, and for a cause 
which whatever may be their misjudgment in the case, 
they believe to be the cause of liberty. Man is then greater 
in his disinterestedness, in the spirit with which he re- 
nounces himself, and offers his neck to the ax of the execu- 
tioner, than he can be clothed in any robe of honor, or 
sitting upon any throne of power. Which is greater in the 
present instance, Longinus, Gracchus, Otho — or Aurelian 
— I can not doubt for a moment, although I fear that you, 
Curtius, were I to declare my opinion, would hardly agree 
with me. Strange that such a sacrifice as this which is 
about to be made, can be thought to be necessary! It is 
not necessary; nor can Aurelian himself in his heart deem 
it so. It is a peace-offering to the blood-thirsty legions, 
who, well do I know it — ^for I have been of them — love no 
sight so well as the dying throes of an enemy. It is, I am 
told, with an impatience hardly to be restrained within the 
bounds of discipline, that they wait for the moment, when 
their eyes shall be feasted with the flowing blood and head- 
less trunks of the brave defenders of Palmyra. I see that 
this is so, whenever I pass by a group of soldiers, or 
through the camp. Their conversation seems to turn upon 
nothing else than the vengeance due to them upon those 
who have thinned their ranks of one half their numbers, 
and who, themselves shielded by their walls, looked on and 
beheld in security the slaughter which they made. They 
(ory out for the blood of every Palmyrene brought across 
the desert. My hope for Gracchus is small; not more, 
however, because of this clamor of the legions, than on ac- 
count of the stern and almost cruel nature of Aurelian 
himself. He is himself a soldier. He is one of the 
legions. His sympathies are with them, one of whom he 
so long has been, and from whom he sprung. The gratifi- 
cations which he remembers himself so often to have sought 
and so dearly to have prized, he is willing to bestow upon 
tliose who he knows feel as he once did. He may speak of 
Iiis want of power to resist the will of the soldiers; but I 


152 


ZEKOBIA. 


almost doubt his sincerity, since nothing can equal the ter- 
ror and reverence with which he is regarded throughout 
the army; reverence for his genius, terror for his passions, 
which, when excited, rage with the fury of a madman, and 
wreak themselves upon all upon whom the least suspicion 
falls, though among his most trusted friends, lo this 
terror, as you well know, his bodily strength greatly adds. 

It was my first office to seek the presence of Gracchus. 

I found, upon inquiry, that both he and Longinus were 
confined in the same prison, and in the charge of the same 
keeper. I did not believe that I should experience diffi- 
culty in gaining admission to them, and I found it so. 

Applying to the jailer for admittance to Gracchus the 
Palmyrene, I was told that but few were allowed to see 
him, and such only whose names had been given liim. 
Upon giving him my name, he said that it was one which 
was upon his list, and I might enter. Make the most of 
your time," "he added, ‘‘for to-morrow is the day set for 
the general execution."" 

“ So soon?"" I said. 

“ Ay,"" he replied, “ and that is scarce soon enough to 
keep the soldiers quiet. Since they have lost the Queen, 
they are suspicious lest the others, or some of them, may 
escape too — so that they are well guarded, I warrant you."" 

“ Is the Queen,"" I asked, “ under your guard, and 
within the same prison?"" 

“ The Queen?"" he rejoined, and lowering his tone, 
added, “ she is far enough from here. If others know it 
not, I know that she is well on her way to Rome. She has 
let too much Roman blood for her safety within reach of 
Roman swords, I can tell you — Aurelian notwithstanding. 
That butchery of the Centurions did neither any good."" 

“ You say to-morrow is the day appointed for the execu- 
tion?"" 

“ So I said. But you will scarce believe it when you see 
the prisoners. They seem rather as if they were for Rome 
upon a journey of pleasure, than so soon for the ax. But 
walk in. And when you would be let out, make a signal 
by drawing the cord which you will find within the inner 
ward."" 

I passed in, and meeting another officer of the prison, 
was by him shown the door that led to the cell of Gracchus, 
and the cord by which I was to make the necessary signal. 


ZENOBIA. 


153 


I unbarred the door and entered. Gracchus, who was 
pacing to and fro in his apartment, upon seeing who his 
visitor was, greeted me in his cordial, cheerful way. His 
first inquiry was, 

“ Is Fausta well?^^ 

“I left, her well; well as her grief would allow her t6 
be. 

“ My room is narrow, Piso, but it offers two seats. Let 
us sit. This room is not our hall in Palmyra, nor the ban- 
queting room — this window is too small — nay, it is in some 
sort but a crevice — and this ceiling is too low — and these 
webs of the spider, the prisoner's friend, are not our pur- 
ple hangings— but it might well be worse. I. am free of 
chains, I can walk the length of my room and back again, 
and there is light enough from our chink to see a friend's 
face by. Yet far as these things are from worst, I trust 
not to be annoyed or comforted by them long. Y'ou have 
done kindly, Piso, to seek me out thus remote from Pal- 
myra, and death will be lighter for your presence. I am 
glad to see you. " 

‘ ^ I could not, as you may easily suppose, remain in 
Palmyra, and you here and thus. For Fausta's sake and 
my own, I must be here. Although I should not speak a 
word, nor you, there is a happiness in being near and in 
seeing. ' ' 

There is. Confinement for along period of time were 
robbed of much of its horror, if there were near you but a 
single human countenance, and that a stranger's, upon 
which you might look, especially if you might read there 
pity and affection. Then if this countenance should be 
that of one known and beloved, it would be almost like 
living in society, even though speech were prohibited. 
Tyrants know this — these walls are the proof of it. Aure- 
lian is not a tyrant in this sense. He is not without mag- 
nanimity. Are 3 ^ou here with his knowledge?" 

By his express provision. The jailer had been fur- 
nished with my name. ' You are right surely, touching the 
character of Aurelian. Though rude and unlettered, and 
severe almost to cruelty, there are generous sentiments 
within which shed a softening light, if inconstant, upon 
the darker traits. I would conceal nothing from you, 
Gracchus; as I would do nothing without your approbation. 

I know your indifference to life. I know that you would 


154 


ZENOBIA. 


not purchase a day by any unworthy concession, by any 
doubtful act or word. Relying with some confidence upon 
the generosity of Aurelian — 

Why, Lucius, so hesitating and indirect? You would 
say that you have appealed to Aurelian for my_ life— and 
that hope is not extinct in your mind of escape from this 
appointed death. 

That is what I would say. The Emperor inclines to 
spare your life, but wavers. Shall I seek another inter- 
’view with him? And is there any argument which you 
would that I should urge?— or— would you rather that I 
should forbear? It is, Gracchus, because I feared lest I 
had been doing you a displeasing and undesired service^ 
that I have now spoken.'’^ 

Piso, it is the simple truth when I say that I anticipate 
the hour and the moment of death with the same indiffer- 
ence and composure that I do any, the most common 
event. I have schooled myself to patience. Acquiescence 
in the will of the gods — if gods there are— or which is the 
same thing, in the order of events, is the temper which, 
since I have reflected at all, 1 have cultivated, and to 
which I can say I have fully attained. I throw myself 
upon the current of life, unresisting, to be wafted whither- 
soever it will. I look with desire neither to this shore nor 
the opposite, to one part nor another, but wherever I am 
borne and permitted to act, I straightway find there and 
in that my happiness. * Not that one allotment is not in it- 
self preferable to another, but that there being so much of 
life over which man has no control, and can not, if he 
would, secure his felicity, I think it wiser to renounce all 
action and endeavor concerning it — receiving what is sent 
or happens with joy if it be good, without complaint if it 
be evil. In this manner have I secured an inward calm, 
which has been as a fountain of life. My days, whether 
they have been dark ones or bright, as others term them, 
have flowed along a smooth and even current. Under 
misfortune, I believe I have enjoyed more from this my in- 
ward frame, than many a son of prosperity has in the very 
height of his glory. Th^t which so disturbs the peace of 
multitudes — even of philosophers — the prospect of death, 
has occasioned me not one mementos disquiet. It is true, 
I know not what it is — do I' know what life is? — but that is 
no reason why I should fear it. One thing I know, which 


ZENOBIA. 


155 


nof es’cinf it fV‘ comes to all, and that I can 

not escape it. It may take me where it will, I shall bp 

h ‘i I live again elsewhere 

sn^nre n* especially if I am then exempt from evils 
an my condition which assail me here; if it be extinction 
vescmble those nights when I sleep 
without dreaming — it will not yield any delights but it 

Tain Tnd^’T^ ““f ‘ I de"-e nf to’ ente^^ 

tain, and I do not entertain either hope or fear. I am 
passive. My will is annihilated. The object of my life 

hefna®®tL*h®®ri'i® amount of pleasure— that 

being the best thing of which we can conceive. This I 
have done hy acting right. I have found happiness, or 

fT 'f*" T *“ in accordance 

with that part of my nature which prescribes the lines of 
duty; not in any set of philosophical opinions; not in ex- 
pectations in futurity; not in any fancies or dreams; but 
in the substantial reality of virtuous action. I have sought 
to treat both myself and others in such a way, that after- 
ward I should not hear from either a single word of re- 
proach. In this way of life I have for the most part suc- 
weded, as any one can who will apply his powers as he 
may if he will. I have at this hour, which it may be is 
the last of my life, no complaints to make or hear against 
my^lf So too in regard to others. At least I know not 
tnat there is one living whom I have wronged, and to 
whom 1 owe the least reparation. Now therefore by liv- 
ing in the best manner for this life on earth, I have pre- 
in the best manner for death, and for another 
lite, if there be one. If there be none— still what I have 
enjoyed I have enjoyed, and it has been more than any 
other manner of life could have afforded. So that in any 
event, I am like a soldier armed at all points. To me 
Piso, to die is no more than to go on to live. Both are 
events: to both I am alike indifferent; I know nothing 
about either. As for the pain of death, it is not worthy I 
moment’s thought, even if it were considerable; but it ap- 
pears to me that it is not. I have many times witnessed 
it, and it has ever seemed that death, so far from being 
represented by any word signifying pain, would be bettel 
expressed by one that should stand for insensibility. The 
nearer death the nearer apathy. There is pain which often 
precedes it, in various forms of sickness; but this is sick- 


156 


ZENOBIA. 


ness not death. Such pains we often endure and recover; 
worse often than apparently are endured by those who die. 

I perceive, then, Gracchus, I have given you 

neither pain nor pleasure by anything I have 
- Not that exactly. It has given me 
have sought to do me a service. Tor myself, it will weigh 
but little whether you succeed or fail. Your intercession 
has not displeased me. It can not affect my good nanie.^ 

For Fausta’s sake— at her name he paused as if foi 
strength— and because she wishes it, I would rather live 
than die. Otherwise my mind is even-poised, inclining 

wuM it not afford you, Gracchus, a sensible pleas- 
ure if, supposing you are now to die, you could anticipate 
whh mtafiftyafuiire existence? You are now you say 
in a state of indifference, as to life or death. Above aU 
you are delivered from all apprehensions concerning death 
and futurity. This is, it can not be denied, a great felic- 
itv You are able to sit here calm and composed. But it 
seems to me, if you were possessed of a certain expectation 
of immortality, you would be very much animated and 
transported, as it were, with the prospect of the wonderful 
scenes so soon to be revealed. If, with such a belief, you 
could turn back your eye upon as faultless and virtuous a 
life as you have passed, you would cast it forward with 
feelings far from those of indifference.” 

“ What you assert is very true; doubtless it would be as 
you say. I can conceive that death may be approphed 
not only with composure, but with a bursting impatience; 
iust as the youthful traveler pants to leap from the vessel 
that bears him to a foreign land. This would be the case 
if we were as secure of another and happier life as we are 
certain that we live now. In future ages, perhaps through 
the discoveries of reason, perhaps by disclosures from su- 
perior beings, it may be so universally, and death come to 
be regarded even with affection, as the great deliverer and 
rewarder. But at present it is very different; I have found 
no evidence to satisfy me in any of the systems of ancient 
or modern philosophers, from Pythagoras to Seneca, and 
our own Longinus, either of the existence of a God or ot 
the reality-of a future life. It seems to. me oftentimes in 
certain frames of mind, but they are transient, as if both 
were true; they feel true, but that is all. I find no evi- 


ZENOBIA. 


157 

dence beyond this inward feeling at all complete and 
sutticient; and this feeling is nothing, it is of the nature 
ot a dream, I can not rely upon it. So that I have, as I 
still judge, wisely intrenched myself behind inditference. I 
nave never indulged in idle lamentations over evils that 
could not be removed, nor do I now. Submission is the 
lavv of my life, the sum of my philosophy. 

■u' I here said, “ seem to possess that 

which all so much desire, a hope, amounting to a certain 
expectation, of immortality. They all, so I am informed, 
the poor and the humble, as well as the rich and the learn- 
ed, live while they live, as feeling themselves to be only 
passengers here, and when they die, die as those who pass 
from one stage of a journey to another. To them death 
loses its character of death, and is associated rather in their 
minds with life. It is a beginning rather than an ending; 
a commencement, not a consummation; being born, not 
dying. 

'‘So I have heard; but I have never considered their 
doctrine. Thfe Christian philosophy or doctrine is almost 
the only one of all, which lay claim to such distinction, 
that I have not studied. I have been repelled from that I 
suppose by seeing it in so great proportion the property of 
the vulgar. What they so rejoiced in, it has appeared to 
me, could not at the same time be what would yield me 
either pleasure or wisdom. At least in other things the 
vulgar and the refined seek their knowledge and their pleas- 
ures from very different sources. I can not conceive of the 
same philosophy approving itself to both classes. Do you 
learn, Piso, when the time for the execution of the prison- 
ers is appointed?'’^ 

" To-morrow, as I heard from the jailer. 

" To-morrow. It is well. Yet I marvel that the jailer 
told not me. I am somewhat more concerned to know the 
hour than you, yet to you he has imparted what he has 
withheld from me. He is a partial knave. Have you yet 
seen Longinus?^^ 

" I have not, but shall visit him in the morning. 

"Do so. He will receive you with pleasure. Tell me 
if he continues true in his affections for the Queen. His is 
a great trial, laboring, as at first he did, to turn her from 
the measures that have come to this end; now dying, be- 
cause at last, out of friendship for her rather than any- 


158 


ZENOBIA. 


thing else, he espoused her cause. Yet it is almost the 
same with me. And for myself, the sweetest feeling of 
this hour, is, that I die for Zenobia, and that perhaps my 
death is in part the sacrifice that spares her. Incompara- 
ble woman r how the hearts of those who have known thee 
are bound to thee, so that thy very errors and faults are 
esteemed to be virtues!^' 

Our ‘conversation here ended, and I turned from the 
prison, resolved to seek the presence of Aurelian. I did 
so. He received me with urbanity as before, but neither 
confirmed my hopes nor my fears. I returned again to the 
cell of Gracchus, with whom, in various, and to me most 
instructive conversation, we passed the remainder of the 

In the morning, with a spirit heavy and sad, burdened 
indeed with a grief such as I never before had experienced, 

I turned to seek the apartment of Longinus. It was not 
far from that of Gracchus. The keeper of the prison read- 
ily admitted me, saying, '‘that free intercourse was al- 
lowed the prisoners with all whom it was their desire to see, 
and that there were several friends of Longinus already 
with him.^^ With these words he let fall a heavy bar, and 
the door of the cell creaked upon its hinges. 

The room into which I passed seemed a dungeon, rather 
than anything else or better, for the only light it had, came 
from a small barred window far above the reach. ^ Lon- 
ginus was seated near a massy central column, to which he 
was bound by a chain; his friends were around him, with 
whom he appeared to have been engaged in earnest con- 
versation. He rose as I approached him, and saluted me 
with the grace that is natural to him, and which is express- 
ive, not more of his high-breeding, than of an inward be- 
nevolence that goes forth and embraces all who draw near 
him. 

" Although,'" said he, "I am forsaken of that winch 
men call fortune, yet I am not forgotten by my friends. 
So that the best things remain. Piso, I rejoice truly to 
see you. These whom you behold are pupils and friends 
whom you have often met at my house, if this dim light 
will allow you to distinguish them." 

" My eyes are not yet so used to darkness as to see with 
much distinctness, but I recognize well-known faces." 

After mutual salutations, Longinus said, " Let me now 


ZEKOBIA. 


159 


first inquire concerning the daughter of Gracchus that 
bnght emanation of the^Deity. f trust in t"s she is 

I replied, overwhelmed by sorrow. To 
I country parent, and friends, is loss too great 

her ^ Gracchus will be death also to 

'ii.Qv i^cmper of Fausta is too sanguine, her heart too 
wa^ : she was designated for a perpetual prosperity. The 
misfortunes that overtake her friends she makes more than 
her own. Others sufferings— her own she could bear- 
falling upon her so thickly, will, if they leave her life, im- 
part a lasting bitterness to it. It were better perhaps that 
S'acchus?^^^^^ Gracchus you have found ajt^ether 

I hJAve. He is in the prison as he was in his own pal- 
ace. His thoughts will sometimes wander to his dauffMer 
ottener than he would — and then in the mirror of the 
lace you behold the inward sorrow of the heart, but it is 
only a momentaiy ruffling of the surface, and straightway 
It IS calm again. Except this only, and he sits upon his 
haid seat in the same composure as if at the head of the 
Senate. 

“Gracchus,” said Longinus, in reply, “is naturally 
great; be is a giant! the ills of life, the greater and the 
lesser, which assail and subdue so many, can make nothing 
of him. He is impenetrable, immovable. Then he has 
aided nature by the precepts of philosophy. What he 
wanted of insensibility to evil, he has added from a doc- 
trine, to which he himself clings tenaciously, to which he 
refers and will refer, as the spring of his highest felicity 
but from which I — so variously are we constituted— shrink 
with unfeigned horror. Doubtless you all know what it is'^""* 
Wedo.'’^ 

I grant it thus much; that it steels the mind against 
pain; that it is unrivaled in its power to sear and burden 
the soul; and that if it were man's common lot to be ex- 
posed to evil, and evil chiefly, it were a 2flfllosophy to be 
greatly coveted. But it is benumbing, deadening in its in- 
fluences. It oppresses the soul and overlays it; it delivers 
it by rendering it insensible, not by imparting a new prin- 
ciple^ of vitality beyond the reach of earthly ill. It does the 
same service that a stupefying draught does to him who is 


ZENOBIA. 


160 

about to submit to the kuife of the surgeon, or the ax of 
the executioner. But is it not nobler to meet such pains 
fortified in no other way than by a resolute purpose to bear 
them as well as the nature the gods have given ^n will 
allow? And suppose you shrink or give signs of sulieringr 
that does not impeach the soul. It is rather the gods them- 
selves who cry out through you; you did not; it was yoiiy 
corporeal nature, something beside your proper selt it is 
to be no subject of humiliation to us, or of grief, that 
when the prospect of acute suffering is before us, or, still 
more, when called to endure it, we give many tokens of a 
keen sensibility; so it be that at the same time we remain 
unshaken in our principles, and ready to bear what we 

^ ‘‘ And what,^^ asked the young Oleoras, a favorite dis- 
ciple of the philosopher, ‘Ms it in your case that enables 
you to meet misfortune and death without shrinking. ^ If 
you take not shelter behind indifference, what other shield 
do you find to be sufficient?^ ^ . 

“ I know,-’" said Longinus, “ that you ask this question 
not because you have never heard from me virtually at 
least its answer, but because you wish to hear from me at 
this hour, whether I adhere with firmness to the principles 
I have ever inculcated, respecting death, and whether I 
myself derive from them the satisfactions I have declared 
them capable to impart. It is right and well that you do 
so. And I on my part take pleasure in repeating and re- 
affirming what I have maintained and taught. But I must 
be brief in what I say, more so than I have been in reply- 
ing to your other inquiries, Oleoras and Bassus, for I per- 
ceive by the manner in which the rays of the sun shoot 
through the bars of the window, that it is not long before 
the executioner will make his appearance. It affords me 
then, I say, a very especial satisfaction, to declare in the 
presence of so many worthy friends, my continued attach- 
ment and hearty devotion to the truths I have believed and 
taught, concerning the existence of a God, and the reality 
of . a future and immortal life. Upon these two great 
points I suffer from no serious doubts, and it is from this 
belief that I now derive the serenity and peace which you 
witness. All the arguments which you have often heard 
from me in support of them, now seem to me to be pos- 
sessed of a greater strength than ever — I will not repeat 


ZEifOBIA. 


IGl 

tliem, for they are too familiar to you, but only reaffirm 
them, and pronounce them, as in my judgment, affording 
a ground for our assurance in the department of moral 
demonstration, as solid and sufficient as the reasonings of 
Jiuclid afford in the science of geometry. I believe in a su- 
preme God and sovereign ruler of the world, by whose wis- 
dom and power all thmgs and beings have been created, 
and are sustamed, and in whose presence I live and eniov, 
as implicitly as I believe the fifth proposition of Euclid^s first 
book. _ I believe in a future life with the like strength. It 
i^s behind these truths, Cleoras, that I entrench myself at 
this hour; these make the shield which defends me from 
the assaults of fear and despair, that would otherwise, I 
am sure, overwhelm me.^^ 

defend you, Longinus, asked Cleo- 
ras— by simply rendering you inaccessible to the shafts 
which are directed against you, or by any other and higher 
operation upon the soul?^^ 

“Were it only, replied the philosopher, “ that truth 
made me insensible and indifferent, I should pray rather to 
be left to the tutelage of nature. I both despise and abhor 
doctrines that can do no more than this. I desire to bless 
the gods that the philosophy I have received and taught 
has performed for me a far more essential service. Tmis 
. elevates and ppands: it renders nature as it were superior 
to itself and its condition: it causes the soul to assert its 
entire supremacy over its companion, the body, and its 
dwelling-place the earth, and in the perfect possession of 
itself to inhabit a better world of its own creation: it in- 
finitely increases all its sensibilities, and adds to the con- 
stitution received from nature, what may be termed new 
senses, so vividly does it come to apprehend things, which 
to those who are unplightened by this excellent truth, are 
as if they had no existence, their minds being invested with 
no faculty or power whereby to discern and esteem them. 
So far from carrying those who embrace it further toward 
insensibility and indifference, which may truly be called a 
kind of death, it renders them intensely alive, and it is 
through the transforming energies of this new life that the 
soul is made not insensible to pain, but superior to it, and 
to all the greater ills of existence. It soars above them. 
The knowledge and the belief that fills it furnish it with 
wings by which it is borne far aloft, even at the very time 

6-2d half. 


162 


ZEKOBIA. 


that the body is in the deepest affliction. Gracchus meets 
death with equanimity, and that is something. It is better 
than to be convulsed with vulgar and excessive fear. But ]t 
is a state of the soul very inferior to what exists in those 
who truly receive the doctrines which I have taught. I, 
Cleoras, look upon death as a release, not from a life which 
has been wholly evil, for I have through the favor of the 
gods, enjoyed much, but from the dominion of the body 
and the appetites which clog the soul and greatly hinder it 
in its efforts after a perfect virtue and a true felicity. It 
will open a way for me into those elysian realms in whose 
reality all men have believed, a very few except, though 
few or none could prove it. Even as the great Roman could 
call that “ Oh glorious day,"" that should admit hiip to the 
council of the gods, and the society of the great and good 
who had preceded him, so can I in like manner designate 
the day and hour which are now present. I shall leave you 
whom I have known so long; I shall be separated from 
scenes familiar and beloved through a series of years; the 
arts and the sciences, which have ministered so largely to 
my happiness, in these forms of them I shall lose; the very 
earth itself, venerable to my mind for the events wliich 
have passed upon it, and the genius it has nurtured and 
matured, and beautiful too in its array of forms and col- 
ors, I shall be conversant with no more. Death will divide 
me from them all; but it will bear me to worlds and scenes 
of a far exceeding beauty: it will introduce me to man- 
sions inconceivably more magnificent than anything which 
the soul has experience of here; above all it will bring me 
into the company of the good of all ages, with whom I shall 
enjoy the pleasures of an uninterrupted intercourse. It 
will place me where I shall be furnished with ample means 
for the prosecution of all those inquiries which have en- 
gaged me on earth, exposed to none or fewer of the hin- 
drances which have here thronged the way. All knowledge 
and all happiness will then be attainable. Is death to be 
called an evil, or is it to be feared or approached with tears 
and regrets, when such are to be its issfies?"" 

“ By no means,"" said Cleoras; “it is rather to be de- 
sired. If my philosophy were as deep and secure as yours, 
oh, Longinus, I should beg to exchange places with you. I 
should willingly suffer a brief pain to be rewarded so largely. 
But I find within me no such strong assurance. "" 


ZENOBIA. 


163 

That/" replied Longinus, “ is for want of reflection. 
It IS only by conversing with itself that the soul rises to any 
height of faith. Argument from abroad is of but little 
service in the comparison. I have often discoursed with 
you concerning these things, and have laid open before you 
the grounds upon which my convictions rest. But I have 
ever taught that consciousness was the true source of belief, 
and that of this you could possess yourselves only through 
habits of profound attention. What^ I believe I feel. I 
can not communicate the strength of my belief to another, 
because it is mysteriously generated within, interweaving 
itself with all my faculties and alfections, and abundantly 
imparting itself to them, but at the same time inseparable 
iroin them in such a sense that I can otfer it as I can a 
portion of my reason or my knowledge, to any whom I 
might desire to benefit. It is in truth in its origin the gift 
of God, strengthened and exalted infinitely by reflection. It 
is an instinct. Were it otherwise, why could I not give to 
you all I possess myself, and possess because I have by la- 
bor acquired it.^ Whereas, though I believe so confidently 
myself, I find no way in which to bestow the same good 
upon you. But each one will possess it, I am persuaded, 
in the proportion in which he prepares himself by a pure 
life and habitual meditation. It will then reveal itself with 
new strength every day. So will it also be of service to 
contemplate the characters and lives of those who have 
lived illustriously, both for their virtue and their philoso- 
phy. To study the character of Plato will be more bene- 
ficial in this regard than to ponder the arguments of the 
Phcedo. Those arguments are trivial, fanciful, and in- 
genious, rather than convincing. And the great advantage 
to be derived from the perusal of the treatise is, as it shall 
be regarded as a sublime expression of the confidence with 
which its author entertained the hope of immortality. It 
is as a part of Platons biography — of the history of his 
mind— that it is valuable. Through meditation, through 
inward purity, through the Contemplation of bright exam- 
ples, will the soul ue best prepared for the birth of that 
feeling or conviction that shall set before you with the 
distinctness and certainty of actual vision the prospect of 
immortality."" 

But are there, Longinus, after all, no waverings of 
the mind, no impertinent doubts, no overcasting shadows. 


164 


ZEKOBIA. 


which at all disturb your peace, or impair the vividness of 
your faith? ^re you wholly superior to fear — the fear of 
suffering and death 

That is not, Oleoras, so much to ask whether I still 
consider my philosophy as sufficient, and whether it be so, 
as whether or not I am still a man, and therefore a mixed 
and imperfect being. But if you desire the assurance, I 
can answer you, and say that I am but a man, and there- 
fore notwithstanding my philosophy subject to infirmity 
and to assaults from the body, which midoubtedly occas- 
ion me some distress. But these seasons are momentary. 
I can truly affirm, that although there have been and still 
are conflicts, the soul is ever conqueror, and that too by 
very great odds. My doubts and fears are mere flitting 
shadows; my hope, a strong and unchanging beam of light. 
The body sometimes slips from beyond my control and 
trembles, but the soul is at the very same time secure in 
herself and undaunted. I present the same apparent contra- 
diction that the soldier often does upon the field of battle; 
he trembles and turns pale as he first springs forward to 
encounter the foe, but his arm is strong and his soul deter- 
mined at the very same moment, and no death nor suffer- 
ing in prospect avails to alarm or turn him back. Do not 
therefore, although I should exhibit signs of fear, imagine 
that my soul is terrified, or that I am forsaken of those 
steadfast principles to which I have given in my allegiance 
for so long a time.’’^ 

“ We will not, Longinus," said they all. 

Longinus here paused, and seemed for a time buried in 
meditation. We were all silent — or the silence was broken 
only by the sobs of those who could not restrain their grief. 

‘‘ I have spoken to you, my friends,^ ^ he at length re- 
sumed, “ of the hope of immortality, of the strength it 
yields, and of its descent from God. But think not that 
this hope can exist but in the strictest alliance with virtue. 
The hope of immortahty without virtue is a contradiction 
in terms. The perpetuation of vice, or of any vicious affec- 
tions or desires, can be contemplate only with horror. If 
the soul be without virtue, it is better that it should perish. 
And if deep stained with vice, it is to be feared that the 
veiy principle of life may be annihilated. As then you 
would meet the final hour, not only with calmness, but 
with pleasant expectations, cherish virtue in your souls; 


ZENOBIA. 


‘ 165 

reverence the divinity; do justly by all; obey your instincts 
which point out the right and the wrong; keep yourselves 
pure; subdue the body. As virtue becomes a habit and a 
choice, and the soul, throughout all its affections, and pow- 
ers, harmonizes with nature and God, will the hope of im- 
mortality increase in strength till it . shall grow to a con- 
fident expectation. Remember that virtue is the golden 
key, and the only one, that unlocks the gates of the celes- 
tial mansions. 

I here asked Longinus if he was conscious of having been 
influenced in any of his opinions by Christianity. 
know, I said, “that in former conversations you have 
ever objected to that doctrine. Does your judgment re- 
main the same?” 

“ I have not read the writings of the Christians, yet am 
I not wholly ignorant of them, since it were impossible to 
know with such familiarity the Princess Julia, and not ar- 
rive at some just conceptions of what that religion is. But 
I have not received it. Yet even as a piece of polished 
metal takes a thousand hues from surrounding objects, so 
does the mind; and mine may have been unconsciously col- 
ored and swayed by the truths of Christianity, which I have 
heard so often stated and defended. Light may have fall- 
en upon it from that quarter as well as from others. I 
doubt not that it has. For although I can not' m^^self ad- 
mit that doctrine, yet am I now, and have ever been, per- 
suaded of its excellence, and that upon such as can admit 
it, it must exert a power altogether beneficial. But let us 
now, for the little time that remains, turn to other things, 
Piso, know you aught concerning the Queen? I have not 
seen her since the day of her flight, nor have I heard con- 
cerning her that which I could trust. 

I then related at length all that I knew. 

“ Happy would it have been for her and for all, had my 
first counsels prevailed! Yet anf I glad that fortune spares 
her. May she live to hear of Palmyra once more restored 
to opulence and glory. I was happy in her service. I am 
now happy, if by my death, as by my life, I can avert from 
her evil that otherwise might overtake her. For her, or 
for the Princess, there is no extremity I would not endure, 
as there have been no services I have not rejoiced to per- 
form. The only favor I have asked of Aurelian was, to be 
permitted a last interview with my great pupils; it did not 


ZEN^OBIA. 


166 

agree with my opinions of him, that I was denied so 

reasonable a request. ^ • r i i 

‘'Perhaps/' said I, “ it is in my power to furnish the 
reason, having been informed, since reaching Emesa, that 
the Queen, with her attendants and the Princes^s, hm 
been sent on secretly toward Eome, that they might be 
j)laced beyond the risk of violence on the part of the legions. 
He himself was doubtful of his power to protect them." 

“ For the sake of both am I glad to hear the explana- 
tion," replied Longinus. 

‘ As he uttered these words, the sound of steps was heard 
as of several approaching the door of the room. Then the 
heavy bar of the door was let fall, and the key turned m 
the wards of the lock. We knew that the last moments of 
Longinus had arrived. Although knowing this so well, 
yet Ave still wei-e not ready for it, and a horror as of some 
unlooked-for calamity came over us. > Cleoras wept with- 
out restraint; and threw himself down before Longinus, 
embraced his knees, and as the officers entered and drew 
near, warned them away with threatening language. It 
was Avith difficulty that Longinus calmed him. He seemed 
to have lost the possession of his reason. 

The jailer, followed by a guard now came up to Longi- 
nus, and informed him that the hour appointed for his exe- 
cution had arrived. 

Longinus replied, “ that he was ready to go with him, 
but must first, when his chains were taken ofi, be per- 
mitted to address himself to the gods. For," said he, ‘ we 
ought to undertake no enterprise of moment, especially 
ought Ave not to venture into any imknown and untried 
scenes Avithout first asking their guidance, who alone have 
power to carry us safely through. " 

“ This Ave readily grant," replied the jailer; who then 
taking his hammer struck ofi the chain that was bound 
around the middle of his body. 

Longinus then, without moving from where he sat, bent 
his head, and covering his face with his hands remained a 
few moments in that posture. The apartment was silent 
as if no one had been in it. Even Oleoras was by that 
sight taught to put a restramt upon the expression of his 
feelings. 

AVhen these feAV moments AA^ere ended, Longinus raised 


ZENOBIA. 


167 

his head, and with a bright and smiling coimtenance said 
to the jailer that he was now ready. 

He then went out in company with the guard and sol- 
diers, we following in sad procession. The place of execu- 
tion was in front of the camp, all the legions being drawn 
round to witness it. Aurelian himself was present among 

Soon as we came in sight of that fatal place, and of tlie 
executioner standing with his ax lifted upon his shoulder, 
Longinus suddenly stopped, his face became pale and his 
frame trembled. He turned and looked upon us who were 
immediately behind him, and held up his hands, but with- 
out speaking, which was as much as to say, ‘‘ you perceive 
that what I said was very likely to happen has come to 
pass, and the body has obtained a momentary triumph. 
He paused, however, not long, making then a sign to the 
soldiers that he was ready to proceed. After a short walk 
from that spot we reached the block and the executioner. 

“ Friend,^^ said he, now to the executioner, ‘‘ I hope 
your ax is sharp, and that you are skillful in your art, and 
yet it is a pity if you have had so much practice as to have 
become very dexterous in it.^^ 

‘‘ Ten years service m Rome,^^ he replied, may well 
make one so, or he must be born with little wit. Distrust 
not my arm, for it has never failed yet. One blow, and 
that a light one, is all I want, if it be as it ought, a little 
slanting. As for this edge — feel it if thou wilt — it would 
do for thy beard. 

Longinus had now divested himself of whatever parts of 
his garments would obstruct the executioner in his duty, 
and was about to place his head in the prescribed place, 
when he first turned to us and again held out his hands, 
which now trembled no longer. 

“You see,^^ said he, in a cheerful voice, “ that the soul 
is again supreme. Love and cultivate the soul, my good 
friends, and you will then be universal conquerors, and 
throughout all ages. It will never betray you. Now, my 
new friend, open for me the gates of immortality, for you 
are in truth a celestial porter. So saying, he placed him- 
self as he was directed to do, and at a single blow, as he 
had been promised, the head of Longinus was severed from 
his body. 

Neither the head nor the body was delivered to the 


ZEKOBIA. 


168 

soldiers, nor allowed to be treated with disrespect. This 
favor we had obtained of Aurelian. So after the execu- 
tioner had held up the head of the philosopher, and shown 
it to the soldiers, it was together with the body given to 
our care, and by us sent to Palmyra. 

On this same day perished Otho, Seleucus, Gabrayas, 
Nicanor — all, in a word, of the Queen^s council, and 
.almost all of the senate. Some were reserved for execution 
at another time, and among these I found, as I went sadly 
toward the cell of Gracchus, was the father of Pausta. 

The keeper of the prison admitted me with a more 
cheerful air than before, and with a significant shake of 
the head. I heeded liim but little, pressing on to meet 
Gracchus. 

So,"" I exclaimed, “ it is not to-day—"" 

“No,"" rejoined Gracchus, visibly moved, “ nor to-mor- 
row, Piso. Read here. "" And placing a parchment in my 
hand, turned away. 

It contained a full and free remission of punishment, 
and permission to return immediately to Palmyra. 

“ The gods be praised! the gods be praised!"" I cried as 
I embraced him. “ Is not this better, Gracchus?"" 

“ It is,"" said he, with emphasis. “It is a great? boon, 
I do not deny it. For rausta"s sake I rejoice — as for my- 
self, all is strictly true which I have said to you. But I 
forget all now, save Fausta and her joy and renewed life. 
Would, oh would, that Longinus could have returned to 
Palmyra with me!"" — and then, for the first time, Grac- 
chus gave way to grief, and wept aloud. 

In the morning we set out for Palmyra. Farewell. 


LETTER XVII. 

I WRITE again from Palmyra. 

We arrived here after a day"s hard travel. The sensa- 
tion occasioned by the unexpected return of Gracchus 
seemed to cause a temporary forgetfulness of their calami- 
ties on the part of the citizens. As we entered the city at 
the close of the day, and they recognized their venerated 
friend, there were no bounds to the tumultuous expres- 
sions of their joy. The whole city was abroad. It were 
hard to say whether Fausta herself was more pained by ex- 


ZEKOBIA. 


169 


cess of pleasure, than was each citizen who thronged the 
streets as we made our triumphal entry. 

A general amnesty of~the past having been proclaimed 
by Sandarion immediately after the departure of Aurelian 
with the prisoners whom he chose to select, we found Cal- 
pumius already returned. At Fausta^s side he received us 
! as we dismounted in the palace-yard. I need not tell you 
how we passed our first evening. Yet it was one of very 
mixed enjoyment. Fausta^s eye, as it dwelt upon the be- 
loved form of her father, seemed to express unalloyed hap- 
piness. But then again, as it was withdrawn at those mo- 
mentswhen his voice kept not her attention fixed upon 
himself, she fell back upon the past and the lost, and the 
shadows of a deep sadness would gather over her. So in 
truth was it with us all — especially, when at the urgency 
of the rest, I related to them the interviews I had had with 
Longinus, and, described to them his behavior in the prison 
and at the execution. 

‘‘ I think,^" said Fausta, “ that Aurelian, in the death 
of Longinus, has injured his fame far more than by the 
' capture of Zenobia and the reduction of Palmyra he has 
added to it. Posterity will not readily forgive him for 
putting out, in its meridian blaze, the very brightest light 
of the age. It surely was an unnecessary act.^-’ 

‘‘ The destruction of prisoners, especially those of rank 
and influence is,^^ said I, “ according to the savage usages 
of war — and Aurelian defends the death of Longinus by 
saying, that in becoming the first adviser of Zenobia, he 
was no longer Longinus the philosopher, but Longinus the 
minister and rebel 

‘‘ That will be held,^^ she replied, as a poor piece of 
sophistry-. He was still Longinus. And in killing Lon- 
ginus the minister, he basely slew Longinus the renowned 
philosopher, -the accomplished scholar, the man of letters 
and of taste; the great man of the age; for you will not 
say that either in Rome or Greece there now lives his 
equal.'’’’ 

“ Fausta, said Gracchus, “you are right. And had 
Aurelian been any more or higher than a soldier, he would 
not have dared to encounter the odium of the act; but in 
simple truth he was, I suppose, and is, utterly insensible to 
the crime he has committed, not against an individual or 
Palmyra, but against the civilized world and posterity; a 


170 


ZENOBIA. 


crime that will grow in its magnitude as time rolls on, and 
will forever and to the remotest times blast the fame and 
the name of him who did it. fconginus belonged to all 
times and people, and by them will be avenged. Aurelian 
could not understand the greatness of his victim, and was 
ignorant that he was drawing upon himself a reproach 
greater than if he had sacrificed in his fury the Queen her- 
self, and half the inhabitants of Palmyra. He will find it 
out when he reaches Eome. He will find himself as 
notorious there, as the murderer of Longinus, as he will be 
as conqueror of the East. 

“ There was one sentiment of Aurelian/^ I said, “ which 
he expressed to me when I urged upon him the sparing of 
Longinus, to which you must allow some greatness to at- 
tach. I had said to him that it was greater to pardon than 
to punish, and thUt for that reason — ' Ah,^ he replied, 
interrupting me, ‘ I may not gain to myself the fame of 
magnanimity at the expense of Eome. As the chief enemy 
of Eome in this rebellion^ Eome requires his punishment, 
and Eome is the party to be satisfied, not 1.^ 

“ I grant that there is greatness in the sentiment. If 
he was sincere, all we can say is this — that he misjudged in 
supposing Eome to need the sacrifice. She needed it not. 
There were enough heads like mine, of less worth, that 
would do for the soldier — for they are Eome in Aurelian^s 
vocabulary. 

Men of humanity and of letters,^^ I replied, “ will, I 
suppose, decide upon this question one way, pohticians and 
soldiers another. ^ 

“ That, I believe, rejoined Gracchus, “ is nearly the 
truth. 

When wearied by a jirolonged conversation, we, sought 
the repose of our pillows; each one of us happier by a large 
and overflowing measure than but two days before we had 
ever thought to be again. 

The city is to all appearance tranquil and acquiescent 
under its bitter chastisement. The outward aspeat is calm 
and peaceful. The gates are thrown open, and the mer- 
chants and traders are returning to the pursuits of trafiic; 
the gentry and nobles are engaged in refitting and re-em- 
bellishing their rifled jjalaces; and the common people have 
returned in quiet to the several channels of their industry. 

I have made, however, some observations, which lead me 


ZEIfOBIA. 


171 

to believe that all is not so settled and secure as it seems to 
be, and that however the greater proportion of the citizens 
are content to sit down patiently under the rule of their 
new masters, others are not of their mind. I can perceive 
that Antiochus, who under the general pardon proclaimed 
by Sandarion has returned to the city, is the central point 
of a good deal of interest among a certain class of citizens. 
He is again at the head of the same licentious and desperate 
crew as before; a set of men, like himself, large in their 
resources, lawless in their lives,' and daring in the pursuit 
of whatever object they set before them. To one who 
knows the men, their habits and manners, it is not diffi- 
.ci:ijt ‘to see that they are engaged in other plans than ap- 
pear upon the surface. Yet are their movements so quiet- 
ly ordered as to occasion no general observation or remark. 
Sandarion, ignorant whence danger might be expected to 
arise, appears not to indulge suspicions of one nor another. 
Indeed, from the smallness of the garrison, from the wdiole 
nianner ^th of the governor , and those who are under 
him, soldiers and others, it is evident that no thought of 
a rising on the part of the populace has entered their 
minds. 

A few days have passed, and Gracchus and Fausta, who 
inclined not to give much heed to my observations, both 
think with me — indeed, to Gracchus communication has 
been made of the existence of a plot to rescue the city 
from the hands of the Komans, in which he has been 
solicited to join. 

Antiochus himself has sought and obtained an interview 
with Gracchus. 

Gracchus has not hesitated to reject all overtures from 
that quarter. We thus learn that the most desperate 
measures are in agitation — weak and preposterous too as 
they are desperate, and must in the end prove ruinous, 
Antiochus, we doubt not, is a tool in the hands of others, 
but he stands out as the head and center of the conspiracy. 
There is a violent and a strong party, consisting chiefly of 
the disbanded soldiers, but of some drawn from every class 
of the inhabitants, whose object is by a sudden attack to 
snatch the city from the Roman garrison; and placing 
Antiochus on the throne, proclaim their independence again. 


172 


ZENOBIA. 


and prepare themselves to maintain and defend it. They 
make use of Antiochus because of his connection with 
Zenobia^ and the influence he would exert through that 
prejudice, and because of his sway over other families 
among the richest and most powerful, especially the two 
princes, Herennianus and Timolaus — and because of his 
, fooiharcliness. If they should fail, he, they imagine^ will 
be the only «r:;,the chief sacriflce — and he can well be 
spared. If they‘succeed, it will be an easy matter after- 
ward to dispose of hini^ if biis character or measures as their 
king should displease them,' and »exalt some other and 
worthier in his room. 

“And what, father, said Fausta, “said you An- 
tiochus 

“ I told him,^^ replied Gracchus, “ what I thought, that 
the 2flan struck me not only as frantic and wild, but foolish 
— that I for myself should engage in no plot of any kind, 
having in view any similar object, much less in such a one 
as he jDroposed. I told him that if Palmyra was destined 
ever to assert its supremacy and independence of Eome, it 
could not be for many years to come, and then by watching 
for some favorable juncture in the affairs of Rome in other 
parts of the world. It might very well happen, I thought, 
that in the jjrocess of years, and when Palmyra, had wholly 
recruited her strength after her late and extreme sufferings 
— that there might occur some period of revolution or in- 
ward commotion in the Roman Empire, such as would leave 
her remote provinces in a comparatively unprotected state. 
Then would be the time for reasserting our independence; 
then we might spring upon our keepers with some good 
j^rospect of overpowering them, and taking again to our- 
selves our own government. But now, I tried to convince 
him, it was utter madness, or worse, stupidity, to dream 
of success in such an enterprise. The Romans were already 
inflamed and angiy; not half appeased by the bloody offer- 
ing that had just been made; their strength was undi- 
minished — for what could diminish the strength of Rome? 
— and a rising could no sooner take place, than her legions 
would again be upon us, and our sufferings might be 
greater than ever. I entreated him to pause, and to dis- 
suade those from action who were connected with him. I 
did not hesitate to set before him a lively picture of his own 
liazard in the affair; that he, if failure ensued, would be 


ZEJs-OBIA. 


173 


the first victim. I urged moreover, that a few, as I held 
his number to be, had no right to endanger, by any selfish 
and besotted conduct, the general welfare, the lives and 
property of the citizens; that not till he felt he had the 
voice of the people with him ought he to dare to act; and 
that although I should not betray his councils to Sandarion, 
I should to the people, unless I received from him ample 
assurance that no movement should be made without a full 
disclosure of the project to all the principal citizens, as 
representatives of the whole city.-’' 

‘‘ And how took he all that?" we asked. 

He was evidently troubled at the vision I raised of his 
own head borne aloft upon a Roman pike, and not a little 
disconcerted at what I labored to convince him were the 
rights of us all in the case. I obtained from him in the 
end a solemn promise that he would communicate what I 
had said to his companions, and that they would forbear' 
all action till they had first obtained the concurrence of the 
greater part of the city. I assured him, however, that in 
no case and under no conceivable circumstances could he or 
others calculate upon any co-operation of mine. Upon 
any knowledge which I might obtain of intended action, I 
should withdraw from the city." 

“It is a sad fate," said Fausta, “ that having just 
escaped with our lives and the bare walls of our city and 
dwellings from the Romans, we are now to become the 
prey of a wicked faction among ourselves. But, can you 
trust the word of Antiochus that he will give you timely 
notice if they go on to prosecute the affair? Will they not 
now work in secret all the more, and veil themselves even 
frorn the scrutiny of citizens? 

“ I hardly think they can escape the watchful eyes that 
will be fixed upon them," replied Gracchus; “nor do I 
believe that however inclined Antiochus might be to deceive 
me, those who are of his party would agree to such base- 
ness. They are honorable men, however deluded, in his 
company." 

Several days have passed, and our fears are almost laid. 
Antiochus and the princes have been seen as usual fre- 
quenting the more public streets, lounging in the Portico, 
or at the places of amusement. And the evenings have 
been devoted to gayety and pleasure — Sandarion himself. 


174 


ZENOBIA. 


and the officers of his legion, being frequent visitors at the 
palace of Antiochus, and at that of the Caesars, lately the 
palace of Zenobia, 

During this interval we have celebrated with all becom- 
ing rites the marriage of Fausta and Calpurnius, hastened 
at the urgency of Gracchus, who, feeling still very insecure 
of life, and doubtful of the continued tranquillity of the 
city, wished to bestow upon Calpurnius the rights of a 
husband, and to secure to Fausta the protection of one. 
Gracchus seems happier and lighter of heart since this has 
been done — so do we all. It was an occasion of joy, but 
as much of tears also. An event which we had hoped to 
have been graced by the presence of Zenobia, J ulia and 
Longinus, took place almost in solitude and silence. . But 
of this I have written fully to Portia. 

That which we have apprehended has happened. The 
blow has been struck, and Palmyra is again, in name at 
least, free and independent. 

Early on the morning after the marriage of Fausta, we 
were alarmed by the sounds of strife and commotion in the" 
streets — by the cries of those who' pursued, and of those 
who fled and fought. It was as yet hardly light. But it 
w^as not difficult to know the cause of the uproar, or the 
parties engaged. We seized our arms, and prepared our- 
selves for defense, against whatever party, Roman or 
Palmyrene, should make an assault. The preparation was 
however needless, for the contest was already decided. The 
whole garrison, with the brave Sandarion at their head, has 
been massacred, and the power of Palmyra is in the hands 
of Antiochus and his adherents. There has been in truth 
no fighting, it has been the murder rather of unprepared 
and defenseless men. The garrison was cut off in detail 
while upon their watch by overwhelming numbers. San- 
darion was dispatched in his quarters, and in his bed, by 
the very inhuman wretches at whose tables he had just 
been feasted, from whom he had but a few hours before 
parted, giving and receiving the signs of friendship. The 
cowardly Antiochus it was who stabbed him . as he sprung 
from his sleep, encumbered and disabled by his night-* 
clothes. Kot a Roman has escaped with his life. 

Antiochus is proclaimed king, and the streets of the city 
have resounded with the shouts of this deluded people, cry- 


ZENOBIA. 


175 


ing, ‘‘ Long live AntiochusI^" He lias been borne in tumult 
to the great portico of the Temple of the Sun, where, with 
the ceremonies prescribed for the occasion, he has been 
crowned King of Palmyra and of the East. 

While these things were in progress — the new king en- 
tering upon his authority, and the government forming 
itself — Gracchus chose and acted his part. 

‘‘ There is little safety, he said, ‘^for me now, I fear, 
anywhere — but least of all here. But were I secure of life. 
Palmyra is now to be a desecrated and polluted place, and 
I would fain depart from it. I could not remain in it, 
though covered with honor, to see Antiochus in the seat of 
Zenobia, and Critias in the chair of Longinus. I must go, 
as I respect myself and as I desire life. Antiochus will 
bear me no good will, and no sooner will he have become 
easy in his seat and secure of his power, than he will begin 
the work for which his nature alone fits him, of cold-blood- 
ed revenge, cruelty, and lust. I trust indeed that his reign 
will end before that day shall arrive — but it may not — and 
it will be best for me and for you, my children, to remove 
from his sight. If he sees us not, he may forget us. 

We all gladly assented to the plan which he then pro- 
posed. It was to withdraw privately as possible to one of 
his estates in the neighborhood of the city, and there await 
the unfolding of the scenes that remained yet to be enact- 
ed. The plan was at once carried into efiect. The estate 
to which w'e retreated was about four Roman miles from 
the walls, situated upon an eminence, and overlooking the 
city and the surrounding plains. Soon as the shadows of 
the evening of the first day of the reign of Antiochus had 
fallen, we departed from Palmyra, and within an hour 
found ourselves upon a spot as wild and secluded as if it 
had been within the bosom of a wilderness. The building 
consists of a square tower of stone, large and lofty, built 
^ originally for purposes of war and defense, but now long 
occupied by those who have pursued the peaceful labors of 
husbandry. The wijdness of the region, the solitariness of 
the place, the dark and frowning aspect of the impregnable 
i;. tower, had pleased the fancy of both Gracchus and Eausta, 

‘ . and it has been used by them as an occasional retreat at 
those times when, wearied of the sound and sight of life, 
they have needed perfect repose. A few slaves are all tliat 
*are required to constitute a sufficient household. 


176 


ZEi^OBIA. 


Here, Cartius, notwithstanding the troubled asj^ect of 
the times, have we passed a few days of no moderate enjoy- 
ment. Had there been no other, it would have been 
enough to sit and witness the happiness of Calpurnius and 
Fausta. But there have been and are other sources of sat- 
isfaction as you will not doubt. We have now leisure to 
converse at such length as we please upon a thousand sub- 
jects which interest us. Seated upon the rocks at nightfall, ^ 
or upon the lofty battlements of the tower, or at hot noon 
reclining beneath the shade of the terebinth or palm, we i 
have tasted once again the calm delights we experienced at ’ 
the Queen ^s mountain palace. In this manner have we 
heard from Calpurnius accounts every way instructive and 
entertaining of his life while in Persia; or of the character 
and acts of Sapor; of the condition of that empire, and its 
widespread population. Nothing seems to have escaped 
his notice and investigation. At these times and places 
too do I amuse and enlighten the circle around me by 
reading such portions of your letters and of Portia ^s as re- 
late to matters generally interesting — and thus too do we 
discuss the times, and speculate upon the events with which 
the future labors in relation to Palmyra. 

In the meantime we learn that the city is given up to 
festivity and excess. Antiochus himself possessing im- 
mense riches, is devoting these, and whatever the treasury 
of the kingdom places witliin his reach, to the entertain- 
ment of the people with shows and games after the Roman 
fashion, and seems really to have deluded the mass of the 
people so far as to have convinced them that their ancient 
prosperity has returned, and that he is the father of their 
country, a second Odenatus. He has succeeded in giving 
to his betrayal of the Queen the character and merit of a 
patriotic act, at least with the creatures who uphold him — 
and there are no praises so false and gross that they are not 
heaped upon him, and imposed upon the people in pro- .. 
clamations, and edicts. The ignorant— and where is it 
that they are not the greater part — stand by, wonder and 
believe. They can not penetrate the wickedness of the 
game that has been played before them, and by the arts of 
the king and his minions have already been converted into 
friends and supporters. 

The defense of the city is not, we understand, wholly 
neglected; but having before their eyes some fear of retri- 


ZE15-0BIA. 


177 

bntion, troops are again levied and organized, and the walls 
beginnmg to be put into a state of preparation. But this 
IS all of ^condary interest, and is postponed to any obieet 
ot more immediate and sensual gratification. 

But there are large numbers of the late Queen’s truest 
friends who with Gracchus look on in grief and terror 
even^ at the order of things that has arisen, and prophesy- 
mg with him a speedy end to it, either from interim- and 
domestic revolution, or a return of .the Eoman armies, ac- 
companied in either case of course by a ’widespread de- 
struction, having ’W'ith him also secretly withdrawn from 
the city, and fled either to some neighboring territory, or 
retreated to the fastnesses of the rural districts. Gracchus 
has not ceased to warn all whom he knows and chiefly 
esteems of the dangers to be apprehended, and urge upon 
them the duty of a timely escape. 


Messengers have arrived from Antiochus to Gracchus, 
■^^th whom they have held long and earnest conference, the 
object of which has been to induce him to return to the 
city, and resume his place at the head of the Senate, the 
king well knowing that no act of his would so much 
strengthen his power as to he able to number Gracchus 
among his friends. But Gracchus has not so much as 
wavered in his purpose to keep aloof from Antiochus and 
all concern with his affairs. His contempt and abhor- 
rence of the king would not however, he says, prevent his 
serving his country, were he not persuaded that in so short 
a time violence of some sort from without or within would 
prostrate king and government in the dust. 

It was only a few days after the messengers from Antio- 
ch ns had paid their visit to Gracchus, that as we were seat- 
ed upon a shaded rock, not far from the tower, listening . 
to Fausta as she read to us, we were alarmed by tlie sud- 
den irruption of Milo upon our seclusion, breathless, except - 
that he could just exclaim, “The Eomansl The 
Eomans!^^ As he could command his speech, he said, 

“ that the Bomaii army could plainly be discerned from 
the higher points of the land, rapidly approaching the city, 
of which we might satisfy ourselves by ascending the 
tower. 

“ Gods! can it be possible, exclaimed Gracchus, “ that 
Aurelian can himself have returned.^ He must have been 


178 


ZENOBIA. 


well on Ills way to the Hellespont ere the consi^iracy broke 
out. 

“ I can easily believe it/" I replied, as we hastened 
toward the old tower, ‘‘ from what I have known and wit- 
nessed of the promptness and miraculous celerity of his 
movements."" 

As wo came out upon the battlements of the tower, not 
a doubt remained that it w^as indeed the Romans pouring 
in again like ^ flood upon the plains of the now devoted 
city. Far as the eye could reach to the west, clouds of 
dust indicated the line of the Roman march, while the van 
was already within a mile of the very gates. The roads 
leading to the capital, in every direction, seemed covered 
with those who, at the last moment, ere the gates were 
shut, had rushed forth and were flying to escape the im- 
pending desolation. All bore the appearance of a city 
taken by surprise and utterly unprepared; as we doubted 
not was the case from what we had observed of its actual 
state, and from the suddenness of Aurelian"s return and 
approach. 

Now,"" said Fausta, “ I can believe that the last days 
of Palmyra have arrived. It is impossible that Antiochus 
can sustain the siege against what will now be the tenfold 
fury of Aureliau and his enraged soldiers."" 

A very few days will suffice for its reduction, if long be- 
fore it be not again betrayed into the power of the assail- 
ants. 

We have watched with intense curiosity and anxiety the 
scene that has been performing before our eyes. We are 
not so remote but that 'we can see with considerable di^ 
tinctness whatever takes place, sometimes advancing ana 
choosing our point of observation upon some nearer emi- 
nence. 

After one day of preparation and one of assault the city 
has fallen, and Aurelian again entered in triumph; this 
time in the spirit of revenge and retaliation. It is evident, 
as we look on horror-struck, that no quarter is given, but 
that a general massacre has been ordered, both of soldier 
and citizen. We can behold whole herds of the defenseless 
population escaping from the gates or over the walls, only 
to be pursued — hunted — and slaughtered by the remorse- 
less soldiers. And thousands upon thousands have we seen- 


ZEKOBIA. 


179 

li«rled from the battlements of 
^e lofty towers to perish, dashed upon the rooks below, 
hausta can not endure these sights of horror, but retires 
and hides herself in her apartments. 

No sooner had the evening of this fatal day set in, than 
a new scene of terrific sublimity opened before us as we be- 
held flames beginning to ascend from every part of the 
city. They grew and spread till they presently appeared 
to wrap all objects alike in one vast sheet of fire. Towers, 
pinnacles aud domes, after glittering awhile in the fierce 
blaze, one after another fell and disappeared in the general 
ruin. The Temple of the Sun stood long untouched, shin- 
ing almost with the brightness of the sun itself, its polished 
shafts and sides reflecting the surrounding fire with an in- 
tense brilliancy. We hoped that it might escape, and were 
certain that it would, unless fired from within — as from its 
insulated position the flames from the neighboring build- 
ings could not reach it. But we watched not long ere from 
its western extremity the fire broke forth, and warned us 
that that peerless monument of human genius, like all else, 
would soon cmmble to the ground. To our amazement 
however and joy, the flames, after having made great prog- 
ress, were suddenly arrested, and by some cause extin- 
guished; and the vast pile stood towering in the center of 
the desolation, of double size as it seemed, from the fall 
and disappearance of so many of the surrounding struct- 
ures. 

‘‘ This,^^ said Fausta, ‘‘ is the act of a rash and passion- 
ate man. Aurelian, before to-morrow's sun is set, will 
himself repent it. What a single night has destroyed, a 
century could not restore. This blighted and ruined capi- 
tal, as long as its crumbling remains shall attract the gaze 
of the traveler, will utter a blasting malediction upon the 
name and memory of Aurelian. Hereafter he wiU be 
known, not as conqueror of the East and the restorer of 
the Roman Empire, but as the executioner of Longinus 
and the ruthless destroyer of Palmyra. " 

I fear that you prophesy with too much truth," I re- 
plied. ‘‘ Rage and revenge have ruled the hour, and have 
committed horrors which no reason and no policy, either 
of the present or of any age, will justify. " 

It is a result ever to be expected," said Gracchus, “so ' 
long as mankind will prefer an ignorant, unlettered soldier 


180 


ZEKOBIA. 


as their ruler. They can look for nothing different from 
one whose ideas have been formed by the camp alone — 
whose vulgar mind has never been illuminated by study 
and the knowledge of antiquity. Such a one feels no rev- 
erence for the arts, for learning, for philosophy, nor for 
man as man — ^he knows not what these mean — power is all 
he can comprehend, and all he worships. As long as the 
army furnishes Eome with her emperors, so long may she 
know that her . name will, by acts like these, be handed 
down to posterity covered with the infamy that belongs to 
the polished savage — the civilized barbarian. Come, 
Fausta, let us now in and hide ourselves from this sight — 
too sad and sorrowful to gaze upon.^^ 

“ I can look now, father, without emotion, she replied; 
‘‘ a little sorrow opens all the fountains of grief — too much 
seals- them. I have wept tilt I can weep no more. My 
sensibility is, I believe, by this succession of calamities 
dulled till it is dead. 

Aurelian, we learn, long before the fire had completed 
its work of destruction, recalled the orders he had given, 
and labored to arrest the progress of the flames. In this 
he to a considerable extent succeeded, and it was owing to 
this that the great temple was saved, and others among the 
most costly and beautiful structures. 

On the third day after the capture of the city and the 
massacre of the inhabitants, the army of the ‘‘ conqueror 
and destroyer withdrew from the scene of its glory, and 
again disappeared beyond the desert. I sought not the 
presence of Aurelian while before the city, for I cared not 
to meet him drenched in the blood of women and children. 
But as soon as he and his legions were departed, we turned 
toward the city, as children to visit the dead body of a 
parent. 

No language which 1 can use, my Curtins, can give you 
any Just conception of the horrors which met our view on 
the way to the walls and in the city itself. For more than 
a mile before we reached the gates, the roads, and the 
fields on either hand, were strewed with the bodies of those 
who, in their attempts to escape had been overtaken by the 
enemy and slain. Many a group of bodies did we notice, 
evidently those of a family, the parents and the children, 
who, hoping to reach in company some place of security, 
had all — and without resistance a^^parently — ^fallen a sacri- 


ZEXOBIA. 


181 


*!“**■ P«>’S“ers. Immediately 
nn ^ 1 i the earth was 

concealed from the eye by the multitudes of the slain, and 
all objects were stained with the one hue of blood. Unon 
entering within those walls whidi I 
had been accustomed to regard as embracing in their wide 
and graceful sweep the most beautiful city of the world 
my eye met naught but black and smoking ruins, fallen 
hou^s and temples, the streets choked with piles of still 
blazing timbers and the half-burned bodies of the dead. 

further into the heart of the city, and to 
its better built and more spacioiis quarters, I found the de- 
struction to be less— that the principal streets were stand- 
ing, and many of the more distinguished structures. But 
everywhere— in the streets — upon the porticoes of private 
and public dwellings— upon the steps and within the very 
walls of the temples of every faith— in all places, the most 
sacred us well as the most common, lay the mangled car- 
casses of the wretched inhabitants. None apparently had 
been spared. The aged were there, with their silvered 
heads— little children and infants— women, the young, the 
beautiful, the good — all were there, slaughtered in every 
imaginable way, and presenting to the eye spectacles of 
horror and ^ grief enough to break the heart and craze 
the brain. For one could not but go back to the day and 
the hour when they died, and suffer with these innocent 
thousands a part of what they suffered, when the gates of 
the city giving way, the infuriated soldiery poured in, and 
with death written in their faces and clamoring on their 
tongues, their quiet houses were invaded, and resisting or 
unresisting, they all fell together beneath the murderous 
knives of the savage foe. What shrieks then rent and filled 
the air— what prayers of agony went up to the gods for life 
to those whose ears on mercy's side were adders' — what 
piercing supplications that life might be taken and honor 
spared! The apartments of the rich and the noble pre- 
sented the most harrowing spectacles, where the inmates, 
delicately nurtured, and knowing of danger, evil and wrong 
only by name and report, had first endured all that nature 
most abhors, and then, there where their souls had died, 
were slain by their brutal violators with every circumstance 
of most demoniac cruelty. Haj^py for those who, like 
Gracchus, foresaw the tempest and fled. These. calamities 


182 


ZEJIOBIA. 


have fallen chiefly upon the adherents of Antiochus; but 
among them, alas! were some of the noblest and most 
honored families of the capital. Their bodies now lie 
blackened and bloated upon their door-stones — ^their own 
halls have become their tombs. 

We sought together the house of Gracchus. We found 
it partly consumed, partly standing and uninjured. The 
offices and one of the rear wings were burned and level 
with the ground, but there the flames had been arrested, 
and the remainder, comprising all the principal apart- 
ments, stands as it stood before. The palace of Zenobia 
has escaped without harm — ^its lofty walls and insulated 
position were its protection. The Long Portico, with its 
columns, monuments, and inscriptions, remains also un- 
touched by the flames and unprofaned by any violence 
from the wanton soldiery. The fire has fed upon the 
poorer quarters of the citj^, where the buildings were com- 
posed in greater proportion of wood, and spared most of 
the great thoroughfares, principal avenues, and squares of 
the capital, which, being constructed in the most solid 
manner of stone, resisted effectually all progress of the 
flames, and though frequently set on fire for the purpose 
of their destruction, the fire perished from a want of ma- 
terial, or it consumed but the single edifice where it was 
kindled. 

The silence of death and of ruin rests over this once and 
but so lately populous city. As I stood upon a high point 
which overlooked a large extent of it, I could discern no 
signs of life, except here and there a detachment of the 
Eoman guard dragging forth the bodies of the slaughtered 
citizens, and bearing them to be burned or buried. This 
whole people is extinct. In a single day these hundred 
thousands have found a common grave. Not one remains 
to bewail or bury the dead. Where are the anxious 
crowds, who when their dwellings have been burned, 
eagerly rush in as the flames have spent themselves to sor- 
row over their smoking altars, and pry with busy search 
among the hot ashes, if perchance they may yet rescue 
some lamented treasure, or bear away at least the bones of 
a parent or a child, buried beneath the ruins? They are 
not here. It is broad day, and the sun shines bright, but 
not a living form is seen lingering about these desolated 
streets and - squares. Birds of prey are already hovering 


ZEKOBIA. 


183 

round, and alighting without apprehension of disturbance 
wherever the banquet invites them; and soon as the shad- 
ows of evening shall fall, the hyena of the the desert will 
be here to gorge himself upon what they have left, having 
scented afar off upon the tainted breeze the fumes of the 
rich feast here spread for him. These Roman grave-dig- 
gers from the legion of Bassus, are alone upon the ground 
to contend with them for their prize. 0, miserable condi- 
tion of humanity! Why is it that to man have been given 
j^ssions which he can not tame, and which sink him below 
the brute! Why is it that a few ambitions are permitted 
by the Great Ruler, in the selfish pursuit of their own ag- 
grandizement, to scatter in ruin, desolation, and death, 
^diole kingdoms— making misery and destruction the steps 
by which they mount Up to their seats of pride ! 0, gentle 
doctrme of Christ! doctrine of love and of peace, when 
shall it be that I and all mankind shall know thy truth, 
and the world smile with a new happiness under thy life- 
giving reign! 

Rausta, as she has wandered with us through this wil- 
derness of woe, has uttered scarce a word. This appalling 
and afflicting sight of her beloved Palmyi’a — her pride and 
hope — in whose glory her very life was wrapped up— so soon 
become a blackened heap of ruins — its power departed — its 
busy multitudes dead, and their dwellings empty or con- 
sumed— has deprived her of all but tears. She has only 
wept. The sensibility which she feared was dead she finds 
endued with life enough— with too much for either her 
peace or safety. 

As soon as it became known in the neighboring districts 
that the army of Aurelian was withdrawn, and that the 
troops left in the camp and upon the walls were no longer 
commissioned to destroy, they who had succeeded in effect- 
ing their escape, or who had early retreated from the scene 
of danger, began to venture back. These were accom- 
panied by great numbers of the country people, who now 
poured in either to witness with their own eyes the great 
horror of the times, or to seek for the bodies of children or 
friends, who, dwelling in the city for purposes of trade or 
labor, or as soldiers, had fallen in the common ruin. For 
many days might the streets, and walls, and ruins be seen 
covered with crowds of men and women, who weeping 
nought among the piles of the yet unburied and decaying 


184 


ZEKOBIA. 


dead, dear relatives, or friends, or lovers, for whom they 
hoped to, perform the last offices of unfailing affection; a 
hope that was, perhaps, in scarce a single instance fulfilled. 
And how could any but those in whom love had swallowed 
up reason once imagine that where the dead were heaped 
fathoms deep, mangled by every shocking mode of death, 
and now defaced yet more by the processes of corruption, 
they could identify the forms which they last saw beautiful 
in all the bloom of health? But love is love; it feels and 
can not reason. 

Cerronius Bassus, the lieutenant of Aurelian, has with a 
humane violence laid hold upon this curious and gazing 
multitude, and changed them all into buriers of the dead 
they came to seek and bewail. To save the country, him- 
self and his soldiers from pestilence, he hastens the neces- 
sary work of interment. The plains are trenched, and into 
them the bodies of the citizens are indiscriminately thrown. 
There now lie in a narrow space the multitudes of Pal- 
myra. 

The mangled bodies of Antiochus, Herennianus and 
Timolaus have been found among the slain. 

We go no longer to the city, but remain at our solitary 
tower — now however populous as the city itself. We con- 
verse of the past and the future; but most of my speedy 
departure for Rome. 

It is the purpose of Gracchus to continue for a season 
yet in the quiet retreat where he now is. He then will re- 
turn to the capital, and become one of those to lay again 
the foundations of another prosperity. 

Nature, he says, “ has given to our city a position 
and resources which, it seems to me, no power of man can 
deprive her of, nor prevent their always creating and sus- 
taining upon this same spot a large population. Circum- 
stances like the present may oppress and overwhelm for a 
time, but time will again revive and rebuild, and embellish. 
I will not for one sit down in inactivity or useless grief, 
but if Aurelian does not hinder, shall apply the remainder 
of my days to the restoration of Palmyra. In Calpurnius 
and Fausta I shall look to find my lieutenants, prompt to 
execute the commissions intrusted to them by their com- 
mander. 


ZEKOBIA. 


185 

'MYe shall fall behind/^ said Calpurnins, I warrant 
you, in no quality of affection or zeal- in the great task. 

Fausta,^' continued Gracchus, ‘‘has as yet no heart 

11 Lucius, when you 

shall have been not long in Rome, you will hear that she 
n \ es then but among the living, and runs before me and 
in}Ta^™^^^ every labor that promises advantage to Pal- 

,, “Kniaybe so ” replied Fausta, “but I have no faith 
tliat It will. We liave witnessed the death of our country 
we have attended the funeral obsequies. I have no belief 
in any rising again from the dead."" 

‘‘ Give not way, my child,"" said Gracchus, “ to grief 
and despair. These are among the worst enemies of man. 
liiey are the true doubters and deniers of the gods and 
ttieir providence, who want a spirit of trust and hope. 
Hope and confidence are the best religion, and the truest 
worship. I who do not believe in the existence of the gods 
am therefore to be commended for my religion more than 
many of the staunchest defenders of Pagan, Christian, or 
Jewish superstitions, who too often, it seems to me, feel 
and act as if the world were abandoned of all divine care, 
and its affairs and events the sport of a blind chance. 
What is best for man and the condition of the world, must 
be most agreeable to the gods — to the creator and possessor 
of the world— be they one or many. Can we doubt which 
IS best for the remaining inhabitants of Palmyra, and the 
provinces around which are dependent upon her trade— to 
leave her in her ruin finally and utterly to perish, or aiiply 
every energy to her restoration Is it better that the sands 
of the desert should within a few years heap themselves 
over these remaining walls and dwellings, or that we who 
survive should cleanse, and repair, and rebuild,, in the con- 
fident hope, before we in our turn are called to disappear, 
to behold our beloved city again thronged with its thou- 
sands of busy and laborious inhabitants? Carthage is 
again populous as in the days of Hamilcar. You, jPausta, 
may live to see Palmyra what it was in the days of Zeno- 
bia."" 

“ The gods grant it may be so!"" exclaimed Fausta; and 
a bright smile at the vision her father had raised up be- 
fore her illuminated her features. She looked for. a mo- 


ZEKOBIA. 


186 

ment as if the reality had been suddenly revealed to her, 
and had stood forthdn all its glory. i -r, 

I do not despair/' continued Gracchus, of the Ko- 
mans themselves doing something toward the restoration of 
that which they have wantonly and foolishly destroyed. 

‘‘ But they can not give life to the dead, and therefore 
it is but little that they can do at best," said Fausta. 

They may indeed rebuild the Temple of the Sun, but 
they can not give us back the godlike form of Longinus, 
and kindle within it that intellect that shed light oyer the 
world; they may raise again the walls of the citizen s 
humble dwelling, but they can not reanimate the bodies 
of the slaughtered multitudes, and call them out from their 
trenches to people again the silent streets, " 

“ They can not indeed," rejoined Gracchus; “ they can 
not do everything — they may not do anything. But I 
think they will, and that the Emperor himself, when rea- 
son returns, will himself set the example. And from you, 
Lucius, when once more in Rome, shall I look for substan- 
tial aid in disposing favorably the mind both of Aurelian 
and the Senate." 

‘‘ I can never be more happily employed," I replied, 

than in serving either you or Palmyra. You will have 
a powerful advocate also in Zenobia. ' ' 

“Yes," said Gracchus, “if her life be spared, which 
must for some time be still quite uncertain. After gracing 
the triumph of Aurelian, she, like Longinus, may be offered 
as a new largess to the still hungering legions." 

“Nay, there I think, Gracchus, you do Aurelian hardly 
justice. Although he has bound himself by no oath, yet 
virtually is he sworn to spare Zenobia — and his least word 
is true as his sword. ' ' 

Thus have we passed the last days and hours of my resi- 
dence here. I should in vain attempt, my Ourtius, to tell 
you how strongly I am bound to this place — to this king- 
dom and city, and above all to those who survive this de- 
struction. No Palmyrene can lament with more sincerity 
than I the whirlwind of desolation that has passed over 
them, obliterating almost their place and name — nor from 
any one do there ascend more fervent prayers that prosper- 
ity may yet return, and these widespread ruins again rise 
and glow in their ancient beauty. Rome has by former 
acts of unparalleled barbarism covered her name with re- 


ZENOBIA. 


187 

proaoh, but by none has she so drenched it in guilt as by 
tins wanton annihilation — for so do I regard it— of one of 
the fairest cities and kingdoms of the earth. The day of 
Aurehan’s triumph may be a day of triumph to him, but 
to Home it will be a day of neyer forgotten infamy. 


LETTER XVIII. 

FKOM PISO TO FAUSTA. 

I TRUST that you have safely received the letter which 
as we entered the Tiber, I was fortunate enough to place 
on board a vessel bound directly to Berytus. In that I 
have told you of my journey and voyage, and have said 
many other things of more consequence still, both to you, 
Gracchus, and myself. 

I now write to you from my own dwelling upon the 
Uoelian, where I have been these many days that have in- 
tervened since the date of my former letter. If you have 
waited impatiently to hear from me again, I hope that I 
shall now atone for what may seem a too long delay, by 
telling you of those concerning whom you wish chiefly to 
hear and know— Zenobia and Julia. 

But first let me say that I haye found Portia in health, 
-and as happy as she could be after her bitter disappoint- 
ment in Oalpurnius. This has proyed a misfortune, less 
only than the loss of our father himself. That a Piso 
should live, and be other than a Roman; that he should 
live and bear arms against his country — this has been to 
her one of those inexplicable mysteries in the providence 
of the gods that has tasked her piety to the utmost. In 
vain has she scrutinized her life to discover what fault has 
drawn down upon her and her house this heayy retribution. 
Yet her grief is lightened by what I have told her of the 
conduct of Oalpurnius at Antioch and Emesa. At such 
times, when I have related the events of those great days, 
and the part which my brother took, the pride of the Ro- 
man has yielded to that of the mother, and she has not 
been able to conceal her satisfaction.' “Ah,^’ she would 
say, ‘‘my brave boy! That was like him! I warrant 
Zabdas himself was not greater! What might he not be, 
were he but in Rome!^^ 


188 


ZEKOBIA. 


Portia is never weary with inquiring into everything re- 
lating to yourself and Gracchus. My letters, many and 
minute as they have been, so far from satisfying her, serve 
only as themes for new and endless conversations, in which, 
as well as I am able, I set before her my whole life while 
in Palmyra, and every event, from the conversation at the 
table or in the porticos, to the fall of the city and the death _ 
of Longinus. So great is her desire to know all concerning 
the “ hero Fausta,^^ and so unsatisfying is the all that I ^ 
can say, that I shall not wonder if, after the ceremony of ‘ 
the triumph, she should herself propose a journey to Pal- * 
myra, to see you once more with her own eyes, and once 
more fold you in her arms. You will rejoice to be told 
that she bewails, even with tears, the ruin of the city, and 
the cruel massacre of its inhabitants. She condemns the 
Emperor in language as strong as you or I should use. 
The slaughter of Sandarion and his troops she will by no 
means allow to be a sufficient justification of the act. And 
of her opinion are all the chief citizens of Rome. 

I have found Our tins and Luciliaalso in health. They 
are at their villa upon the Tiber. The first to greet me 
there were Laco and Coelia. Their gratitude was afiecti»g 
and oppressive. Indeed there is no duty so hard as to re- 
ceive with grace the thanks of those whom you have 
obliged. Curtius is for once satisfied that I have performed 
with fidelity the part of a correspondent. He even wonders 
at my diligence. The advantage is, I believe for the first 
time, fairly on my side; though you can yourself bear tes- 
timony, having heard all his epistles, how many he wrote, 
and with what vividness and exactness he made Rome to 
pass before us. I think he will not be prevented from 
writing to you by anything I can say. He drops in every 
day, Lucdlia sometimes with him, and never leaves us till 
he has exhausted '4iis prepared questions concerning you, 
and the great events which have taken place — there re- 
maining innumerable points to a man of his exact turn of 
mind, about which he must insist upon fuller and more 
careful information. I think.he will draw up a history of 
the v/ar. I hope he will — no one could do it better. 

Aurelian, you will have heard, upon leaving Palmyra, 
instead of continuing on the route upon which he set out 
toward Emesa and Antioch, turned aside to Egypt, in 
order, to put down by one of his sudden movements the 


ZiSl^OBIA, 


m 


Egyptian merchant Pirmus, who, with a genius for war 
greater than for traffic, had placed himself It the head S 
A ® proclaimed their independence of Eomf 

As the friend and ally of Zenobia-ffithough he could 
i^ender her durmg the siege no assistance— I must pity h^ 
misfortunes and his end. News has just reached us tliat his 
aw!®® defeated, he himself taken and put to 

leath, and his new-made kingdom reduced again to the 
condition of a Roman provincef We now everf hour look 
i ?«!” of the Emperor and his armies, 

though there has been observed some secrecy concern- 
ing the progress and places of residence of Zenobia, yet we 
learn with a good degree of certainty that she is nowIt 
Biundusium^ awaiting the further orders of Aurelian, hav- 
mg gone overland from Byzantium to Apollonia, and 

? K ^ ^ not been much dis- 

turbed by the reports which have prevailed, because I 
thought I knew too much of the Queen to think them well 
gioinided. Yet I confess I have suffered somewhat when 
upon resorting to the capitol or the baths, I have found the 
principal topic to be the death of Zenobia— accordnm to 
some, of grief, on her way from Antioch to Byzantium— 
or, others had it, of hunger, she having resolutely re- 
fused all nourishment. I have given no credit to the ru- 
mor, yet as all stories of this kind are a mixture of truth 
and error, so in this case I can conceive easily that it has 
soine founc^tion in reality, and I am led to believe from it 
that the sufferings of the Queen have been great. How 
indeed could they be otherwise! A feebler spirit than 
Zenobia s, and a feebler frame would necessarily have been 
destroyed. With what impatience do I await the hour 
that shall see her in Rome! I am happily already relieved 
ol all anxiety as to her ti-eatment by Aurelian— no fear 
need be entertained for her safety. Desirous as far as may 
be to atone for the rash severity of his orders in S\Tia, 
he will distinguish with every possible mark of honor 
the Queen, her family, and such other of the inhabitants 
or Palm^^a as have b.een reserved to grace his triumph. 

For this august ceremony the preparations are already 
making. It is the sole topic of conversation, and the sin- 
gle object toward which seem to be bent the whole genius 
and industry of the capital. It is intended to surpass in 
magnificence all that has been done by former Fmperors or 


190 


ZEi^OBIA. . 


Generals. The materials for it are collecting from every 
part of the empire, and the remotest regions of Asia and 
Africa. Every day there arrive cargoes either of wild 
beasts or of prisoners, destined to the amphitheater; illus- 
trious captives also from Asia, Germany and Gaul, among 
whom are Tetricus and his son. The Tiber is crowded with 
vessels bringing in the treasures drawn from Palmyra — 
her silver and gold — ^lier statuary and works of art— and 
every object of curiosity and taste that was susceptible of 
transportation across the desert and the ocean. 

It is now certain that the Queen has advanced as far as 
Tusculum, where with Julia, Livia, Faustula and Vabala- 
thus, they will remain— at a villa of AureliaiPs it is said — 
till the day of the triumph. Separation seems the more 
painful as they approach nearer. Although knowing that 
they would be scrupulously prohibited from all intercourse 
with any beyond the precincts of the villa itself, I have not 
been restrained from going again and again to Tusculum, 
and passing through it and around it in the hope to obtain 
were it but a distant glimpse of persons to whom I am 
bound more closely than to any others on earth. But it 
has been all in vain. I shall not see them till I behold 
them a part of the triumphal procession of their conqueror. 

Aurelian has arrived — the long-expected day has come — 
and is gone. His triumph has been celebrated, and with a 
magnificence and a pomp greater than the traditionary 
glories of those of Pompey, Trajan, Titus, or even the 
secular games of Philip. 

I have seen Zenobia! 

The sun of Italy never poured a flood of more golden 
light upon the great capital and its surrounding plains 
than on the day of Aurelian ^s triumph. The airs of Pal- 
myra were never more soft. The whole city was early abroad, 
and, added to our own overgrown population, there were 
the inhabitants of all the neighboring towns and cities, and 
strangers from all parts of the em23ire, so that it was with 
difticulty and labor only, and no little danger too, that the 
spectacle could be seen. I obtained a position opposite 
the capitol, from which I could observe the whole of this 
proud display of the power and greatness of Rome. 

A long train of elei^hants opened the show, their huge 
sides and limbs hung with cloth of gold and scarlet, some 


ZEI^OBIA. 


191 

having upon their backs military towers or other fanciful 
structures, which were filled with the natives of Asia or 
Africa, all arrayed in the richest costumes of their coun- 
tries. These were followed by wild animals, and those re- 
rnarkable for their beauty, from every part of the world, 
either led, as in the case of lions, tigers, leopards, by those 
who from long management of them possessed the same 
power over them as the groom over his horse, or else drawn 
along upon low platforms, upon which they were made to 
perform a thousand antic tricks for the amusement of the 
gaping and wondering crowfis. Then came not many 
feAver than two thousand gladiators in pairs, all arranged 
in such a manner as to display, to the greatest advantage 
their well-knit joints, and projecting and swollen muscles. 
Of these a great number have already perished on the arena 
of the Flavian, and in the sea fights in Domitian^s theater. 
Kext, upon gilded wagons, and so arranged as to produce 
the most dazzling effect, came the spoils of the wars of Au- 
relian — treasures of art, rich cloths and embroideries, uten- 
sils of gold and' silver, pictures, statues, and works in brass, 
from the cities of Gaul, from Asia and from Egypt. 
Conspicuous here over all were the rich and gorgeous con- 
tents of the palace of Zenobia. The huge wains groaned 
under the weight of vessels of gold and silver, of ivory, 
and of the most precious woods of India. The jeweled 
wine-cups, vases, and golden sculpture of Demetrius at- 
tracted the gaze and excited the admiration of every be- 
holder. Immediately after these came a crowd of youths 
richly habited in the costumes of a thousand different tribes, 
bearing in their hands, upon cushions of silk, crowns of 
gold and precious stones, the offerings of the cities and 
kingdoms of all the world, as it were, to the power and 
fame of Aurelian. Following these came the embassadors 
of all nations, sumptuously arrayed in the habits of their 
respective countries. Then an innumerable train of cap- 
tives, showing plainly in their downcast eyes, in their fixed 
and melancholy gaze, that hope had taken its departure 
from their breasts. Among these were many women from 
the shores of the Danube, taken in arms fighting for their 
country, of enormous stature, and clothed in the war-like 
costume of their tribes. 

But why do I detain you with these things when it is of 
one only that you wish to hear. I can not tell you with 


192 


ZEKOBIA. 


what impatience I waited for that j^art of the procession to 
approach where were Zenohia and Julia. I thought its 
line would stretch on forever. And it was the ninth hour 
before the alternate shouts and deep silence of the multi- 
tudes announced that the conqueror was drawing near the 
Capitol. As the first shout arose^ I turned toward the 
quarter whence it came, and beheld, not Aurelian as I 
•expected, but the Gallic Emperor Tetricus — yet slave of 
his army and of Victoria — accompanied by the prince his 
- son, and followed by other illustrious captives from Gaul. 
All eyes were turned with pity upon him, and with indig- 
nation too that Aurelian should thus treat a Roman, and 
once — a Senator. But sympathy for him was instantly 
lost in a stronger feeling of the same kind for Zenobia, who 
came immediately after. You can imagine, Fausta, better 
than I can describe them, my sensations, when I saw our 
beloved friend — her whom I had seen treated never other- 
wise than as a sovereign Queen, and with all the imposing 
pomp of the Persian ceremonial — now on foot, and ex- 
posed to the rude gaze of the Roman populace— toiling be- 
neath the rays of a hot sun, and the weight of jewels, such 
as both for richness and beauty, were never before seen 
in Rome— and of chains of gold, which, first passing around 
her neck and arms, were then borne up by attendant slaves. 

I could have wept to see her so— ye.s, and did. My impulse 
was to break through the crowd and support her almost 
fainting form— but I well knew that my life would answer 
for the rashness on the spot. I could only therefore, like 
the rest, wonder and gaze. And never did she seem to 
me, not even in the midst of her own court, to blaze forth 
with such transcendent beauty — yet touched with grief. 
Her look was not that of dejection, of one who was broken 
and crushed by misfortune— there was no blush of shame. 
It was rather one of profound heart-breaking melancholy. 
Her full eyes looked as if privacy only was wanted for 
them to overfiow with fioods of tears. But they fell not. 
Her gaze was fixed on vacancy, or else cast toward the 
ground. She seemed like one unobservant of all around 
her, and buried in thoughts to which all else were strang- 
ers, and had nothing in common with. They were in 
Palmyra, and with her slaughtered multitudes. Yet 
though she wept not, others did; and one could see all 
along, wherever she moved, the Roman hardness yielding 


ZEKOBIA. 


193 


I pi^y^ apd melting down before the all-snbduing pres- 
! ence of this wonderful woman. The most touching phrases 
of compassion fell constantly upon my ear. And ever and 
anon as in the road there would happen some rough or 
damp place, the kind souls would throw down upon it 
I whatever of their garments they could quickest divest them- 
selves of, that those feet, little used to such encounters, 

! might receive no harm. And as when other parts of the 
. procession were passing by, shouts of triumph and vulgar 
s joy frequently arose from the motley crowds, yet when 
Zenobia appeared, a death-like silence prevailed, or it was 
; interrupted only by exclamations of admiration or pity, or 
; of indignation at Aurelian for so using her. But this hap- 
I pened not long. For when the Emperor^s pride had been 
; sufficiently gratified, and just there where he came over 
j against the steps of the capitol, he himseK, crowned as he 
was with the diadem of universal empire, descended from 
i his chariot, and, unlocking the chains of gold that bound 
the limbs of the Queen, led and placed her in her own 
I chariot — that chariot in which she had fondly hoped herself 
to enter Rome in triumph — ^between Julia and Livia. Upon 
i this the air was rent with the grateful acclamations of the 
countless multitudes. The Queen ^s countenance brightened 
for a moment as if with the expressive sentiment, ‘‘ The 
gods bless you!" and was then buried in the folds of her 
robe. And when after the lapse of many minutes it was 
again raised and turned toward the people, every one might 
see that tears burning hot had coursed her cheeks, and re- 
lieved a heart which else might well have burst with its 
restrained emotion. Soon as the chariot which held her 
had disappeared upon the other side of the capitol, I ex- 
tricated myself from the crowd and returned home. It was 
not till the shades of evening had fallen, that the last of 
the procession had passed the front of the capitol, and the 
Emperor reposed within the walls of his palace. The 
evening was devoted to the shows of the theaters. 

Seven days succeeding this first day of the triumph have 
been devoted to game and shows. I attended them not, but 
escaping from the tumult and confusion of the city, passed 
them in a very different manner — you will at once conject- 
ure where and with whom. It was indeed as you suppose 
in the society of Zenobia, Julia, and Livia. 

What the immediate destination of the Queen was to be 

7-2dhalf. 


194 


ZENOBIA. 


I knew not, nor did any seem to know even so late as the 
day of the triumph. It was only knov^^n that her treatment 
was to be lenient. But on the day after, it became public 
in the city, that the Emperor had bestowed upon her his 
magnificent villa, not far from Hadj’ian^s at Tibur, and at 
the close of the first day of the triumph a chariot of Aurelian 
in waiting had conveyed her there. This was to me trans- 
porting news, as it will be to you. 

On the evening of that day I was at Tibur. Had I been 
a son or a brother, the Queen could not have received me 
with more emotion. But I leave it to you to imagine the 
first moments of our interview. When our greetings were 
over, the first thought, at least the first question, of Zeno- 
bia was, concerning you and Gracchus. All her inquiries, 
as well as those of Julia, I was happily able to answer in 
the most exact manner, out of the fullness of your letter. 
When I had finished this agreeable duty, the Queen said: 

“Our happiness were complete, as now it can be, could 
Fausta and Gracchus be but added to our numbers. I 
shall hope, in the lapse of days or months, to entice them 
away for a season from their melancholy home. And yet 
what better can I offer them here? There they behold their 
city in ruins; here their Queen. There they already detect 
some tokens of reviving life; here they would have before 
them but the picture of decay and approaching death. But 
these things I ought not to say. Piso, you will be glad to 
learn the purposes of Aurelian concerning Palmyra. He 
has already set apart large sums for the restoration of its 
walls and temples; and what is more and better, he has 
made Gracchus governor of the city and province, with 
liberal promises of treasure to carry into effect whatever 
designs he may conceive as most likely to people again the 
silent streets, and fill them with the merchants of the East 
and the West.^^ 

“ Aurelian, I am persuaded,^^ I replied, “ will feel upon 
him the weight of the strongest motives to do all that he 
can to repair the injuries he has inflicted. Then, too, in 
addition to this, his nature is generous. 

“It is so,^^ said Julia. “How happy if he had been 
less subject to his passions! The proofs of a generous nat- 
ure you see here, Piso, everywhere around us.. This vast 
and magnificent palace, with its extensive grounds, has he 


ZEKOBIA. 


195 

freely bestowed upon us; and here, as your eye has already 
iniornied you, has he caused to be brought and arranged 
^ery article of use or luxury found in the palace of 
x^almyra, and capable of transportation/^ 

I could hardly believe,^'’ I said, “ as I approached the 
great entrance, and beheld objects so familiar^still more, 
when I came within the walls and saw aroitnd‘me all that 
I had seen in Palmyra, that I was indeed in the vicinity of 
Home, and had not been by some strange power trans- 
ported suddenly to Apia. In the rash violence of Aurelian 
in Syria, and in this reparation, both here and there, of 
the evil he has committed to the furthest extent possible, 
you witness a genuine revelation of his character. Would 
that principle rather than passion were the governing- 
power of his life!" ^ ^ 

Although I have passed many days ajb Tibur, yet have I 
seen but little of Zenobia. She is silent and solitary. Her 
thoughts are evidently never with the present, but far 
back among the scenes of her former life. To converse is 
an effort. The lines of grief have fixed themselves upon 
her countenance; her very form and manner are expres- 
sive of a soul bowed and subdued by misfortune. Her pride 
seems no longer, as on the day of the triumph, to bear her 
up. It is Zenobia before me, but— like her own beautiful 
capital— it is Zenobia in ruins. That she suffers too from 
the reproaches of a mind now conscious of its errors I can 
not doubt. She blames Aurelian, but I am persuaded she 
blames with no less severity herself. It is, I doubt not, 
the image of her desolated country rising before her, that 
causes her so often in the midst of discourse with us, or 
when she has been sitting long silent, suddenly to start and 
clasp her hands, and withdraw weeping to her apartments, 
or the seclusion of the garden. 

‘‘ It will be long, very long/Vidia has said to me, ‘‘ be- 
fore Zenobia will recover from this grief — if indeed she ever 
do. Would that the principles of that faith, which 're 
have learned to believe and prize, were also hers! Life 
would then still place before her a great object, which 
now she wants. The past absorbs her wholly— the future 
is nothing. 8he dwells upon glories that are departed for- 
ever, and is able to anticipate no other, or greater, in this 
world — nor with certainty in any beyond it."'"' 

I said, ‘‘ But doubtless she throws herself at this season 


196 


ZENOBIA. 


upon her Jewish faith and philosophy. She has ever spoken 
of it with respect at least, if not with affection.'’' 

“ I do not/' Julia replied, ‘‘ think that her faith in 
Judaism is of much avail to her. She has found pleasure 
in reading the sacred books of the Jews, and has often ex- 
pressed wjunly her admiration of the great principles of 
moral livin^Rid of religious belief found in them; but I 
do not think that she has derived from them that which 
she conceives to be the sum of all religion and philosophy, 
a firm belief and hope of immortality. I am sure she has 
not. She has sometimes spoken as if such a belief pos- 
sessed likelihood, but never as if she entertained it in the 
way the Christian does." 

« ^ ^ »i( :ic 4c :jc 

You will rejoice, dear Fausta, to learn that Zenobia no 
longer opposes me;, but waits with impatience for the day 
when I shall be an inmate of her palace. 

What think you is the news to-day in Rome? No other 
and no less than this — which you may well suppose has for 
some time been no news to me — that Livia is to be Em- 
press! It has just been made public by authority; and I 
dispatch my letter that you may be immediately informed 
of it. It has brought another expression upon the coun- 
tenance of Zenobia. 

Curtius and Lucilia have this moment come in, and full 
of these tidings interrupt me — they with Portia wish to be 
remembered to you with affection. I shall soon write 
again — telling you then especially of my interviews with 
Aurelian, and of Probus. Farewell. 


THE END. 


ZKNOBIA. 


197 


NOTE. 


Piso, it will be observed, makes no mention of^ nor allusion to. 
tne stopr recorded by the historian Zosimus, of tR? Queen’s public 
accusation of Longinus and the other principal persons of Palmyra 
as authors of the rebellion, in order to save her own life. It is well 
known that Zenobia, chiefly on the authority of this historian has 
been charged with having laid upon Longinus and her other coun- 
selors, all the blame of the revolt, as if she had been driven by them 
against her will into the course she pursued. The words of Zosi- 
mus are as follows : 


“ Emisam rediit et Zenobiam cum suis complicibus pro triburali 
stitit. Ilia causas exponens, et culpa semet eximens mult os alios in 
medium protulit, qui earn veluti faeminam seduxissent; quorum in 
numero et Longinus erat.— Itidem alii quos Zenobia detulerat sup- 
pliciis adficiebatur. ” 


This IS suspicious upon the face of it. As if Aurelian needed a 
formal tribunal and the testimony of Zenobia to inform him who 
the great men of Palmyra w^ere, and her chief advisers. Longinus, 
at least, we may suppose, was as well known as Zenobia. But if 
there was a formal tribunal, then evidence was heard — and not upon 
one side only, but both. If therefore the statements of Zenobia 
were false, there were Longinus and the other accused persons 
with their witnesses, to make it appear so. If they were true— if 
she had been overruled— led— or driven— by her advisers, then it 
was not unreasonable that punishment— if some must suffer— should 
fall where it did. 

But against Zosimus may be arrayed the w^ords of Aurelian him- 
self, in a letter addressed to the Roman senate, and preserved by 
Pollio. He says, 

“ Nec ego illi (Zenobise) vitam conseivassem nisi earn scissem 
multum Rom: Reip. profuisse, quum sibi vel liberis suis Orientis 
servaret imperium. ’ ’ 

Aurelian here says that he would not have spared her life but for 
one reason, namely, that she had done such signal service to the re- 
public, when either for herself or for her children she had saved 
the empire in the East. Aurelian spared her life, if he himself is 
to be believed, because of services rendered to Rome, not because by 
the accusation of others she had cleared herself of the charge of re- 
bellion. Her life was never in any danger, if this be true; and un- 
less it w^ere, she of course had no motive to criminate Longinus in 
the manner related by Zosimus. 

Longinus and his companions suffered therefore, not in conse- 
quence of any special accusation — it was not needed for their con- 
demnation — but as a matter of course, because they w^ere leaders 
and directors of the revolt. It was the usage of war. 

Why are Pollio (the biographer of Zenobia) and Vopiscus (the 
biographer of Aurelian) and Zonaras all silent respecting so remark- 


ZENOBIA. 


198 


able a point of the history of Zenobia? Pollio does not hesitate to 
say that she had been thought by some to have been partner in the 
crime of murdering Odenatus and his son Herod— a charge whicli 
never found credit in any quarter. Such a biographer surely 
would not have passed over in sdence the unutterable baseness ot 
Zenobia in the accusation of Longinus, if he had ever heard oi it 
and had esteemed it to have come to him as well vouched at least 
as the other story. Omission under such circumstances is good evi- 
dence that it came to him not so well vouched— that is, not vouched 


at all. 

Supposing Zenobia to have been guilty of the crime laid to Imr 
charge, could Aurelian have treated her afterward in the way he 
did? He not only took her to Rome and gave her a palace at 
Tibur, and the state of a queen, but according to some,* married 
one of her daughters. Could he have done all this had she been 
the mean, base and wicked wmman Zosimus makes her out to be? 
The history of this same eastern expedition furnishes a case some- 
what in point, and which may serve to show in what light he would 
probably have regarded Zenobia. Tyana, a city of Asia Minor, foi 
a long time resisted all his attempts to reduce it. At length it was 
betrayed into his hands by one of its chief citizens, Heraclammon. 
How did Aurelian receive and treat him after entering the city? Let 
Vopiscus reply: “ Nam et Heraclammon proditorem patriae sun3 
sapiens victor occidit.”— “ Heraclammon who betrayed his country 
the conquerer wisely slew. ’ ’ But this historian has preserv^ed a 
letter of Aurelian, in wdiich he speaks of this same traitor: 

“ Aurelianus Aug: Mallio Cliiloni. Occidi passus sum cujus 
quasi beneficio Tyanam recepi. Ego vero proditorem amare non 
potui; et libenter tuli quod eum milites occiderunt: neque emm 
mihi fidem servare potuisset qui patriae non pepercit,” etc. He 
permits Heraclammon to be slain because he could not love a traitor, 
and because one icho had betrayed his country could not be trusted— 
while Zenobia, if Zosimus is to be believed, whose act was of the 
same kind— only infinitely more base— he receives and crowms with 
distinguished honor, and marries her daughter 1 

“ Zosime pretend,” says Tillemont, ” que ce fut Zenobie mesme 
qui se dechargea sur eux des choses dont on I’accusoit, (ce qui re- 
pondroit bien mal a cette grandeur d’ame qu’on luy attribue.”)— 
Hist, des Emp. t. II. p. 212. 

The evidence of Zosimus is not of so high a character as justly to 
weigh against a strong internal improbability, or the silence of 
other historians. Gibbon says of him, “ In good policjr we must 
use the service of Zosimus without esteeming him or trusting him;” 
and repeatedly designates him as “credulous,” “partial,” “dis- 
ingenuous.” By Tillemont he is called a “ bad authority.” 

Nothing would seem to be plainer, than that Aurelian^ spared 
Zenobia because she was a woman; because she was a beautiful and 
every way remarkable woman; and as he himself says, because she 
had protected and saved the empire in the East; and that he sacrificed 


* Filiam (Zenobiee) unam uxorem duxisse Aurelianum; caeteras nobilibus 
Romanis despondisse.— Zonaras, lib. xii. p. 480. 


ZENOBIA. 199 

Longinus and the other chief men of Palmyra, because such was the 
usage of war. 

Page 85. _ Piso speaks of the prowess of Aurelia.n, and of the 
songs sung in the camp in honor of him. Vopiscus has preserved 
one of these. 

“ Mille mUle, mille, decollavimus, 

Unus homo mille decollavimus, 

Mille vivat qui mille occidit. 

Tantum vini habet nemo 
Quantum fudit sanguinis. 

“ Mille Sarmatas, mille Francos 
Semel et semel occidimus 
Mille Persas quaerimus.” 

The two letters on pages 93 and 95, it null be observed, are 
nearly the same as those found in Vopiscus. 

On" page 120, Aurelian is designated by a soldier under the nick- 
name of “ Hand- to-his-Sword.” Vopiscus ako mentions this as a 
name by which he was known in the army. “Nam quum essent 
in exercitu duo Aureliani tribuni, hie, et alius qui cum Valeriano 
captus est, huic signum (cognomen) exercitus apposiierat ‘ Manus 
ad ferrum, ’ ’ ’ etc. 

Page 193. Piso represents Aurelian as wearing a crown. He 
w^as the first since the Tarquins who had dared to invest his brow 
with that symbol of tyranny. So says Aurelius Victor. “ Iste 
primus apud Romanos Diadema capiti innexuit; gemmisque et 
aurata omni veste, quod adhuc fere incognitum Romanis moribus 
videbatur, usus est. ” 

On the same page, in the account of the triumph, a chariot of 
Zenobia is stated to have been exhibited, in which it was her belief 
that she should enter Rome in triumph, which indeed had been 
made for that very purpose This singular fact is confirmed by 
Vopiscus — “ tertius, (currus) quern sibi Zenobia composuerat 
sperans se urbem Romanam cum eo visuram; quod earn non fefellit, 
nam cum eo urbem ingressa est victa et triumphata. 


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299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

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300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

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302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

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303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

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305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

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306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

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307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 

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309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

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310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

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311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

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313 The Lover’s Creed. By Mrs. 

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315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

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428 Z6ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

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489 Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E. 

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673 Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

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674 First Person Singular, By 

David Christie Murray 20 

675 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thack- 

eray 20 

677 Griselda, By the author of “ A 

Woman’s Love-Story ” 20 

678 Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

679 Where Two Wa 5 ’s Meet. By 

Sarah Doudnej' 10 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 20 

681 A Singer’s Story, By May Laf- 

fan 10 

682 In the Middle Watch. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

683 The Bachelor Vicar of New- 

forth. By Mrs. J. Harcourt- 
Roe 20 

684 Last Days at Apswich 10 

685 England Under Gladstone. 18^ 

— 16a5. By Justin H.McCarthy, 
M.P 20 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 

Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 
Stevenson lo 


Persons who wish to purchase the foregoing works in complete and un- 
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BRARY, Pock6t Edition, ns woi'ks publishod in other libraries are freQuently 
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changed and unabridged. 

Newsdealers wishing catalogues of The Sfastdk Library, Pocket Edition 
'rearing their imprint, will be supplied on sending their names, addresses, and 
number required. 

The works in The Seaside Library, Pocket Edition, are printed from 
larger type and on better paper than any other series published. 

The foregoing works are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any 
address, postage free, on receipt of price, by the publisher. Address 

GEORGE MUNRO, Munro’s Piiblishiug House, 


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17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


/When ordering by mail please order by niiiiibers.] 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.- Pocket Edition. 


LATEST ISSUES: 


^ . PRICE. 

b26 A Fair Mystery. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 30 

669 The Philosophy of Whist. By 
William Ptde 20 

688 A Man of Honor. By John 

Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 

689 The Heir Presumptive. By 

Florence Marr3-at 20 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

By Thomas Hardy 20 

691 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

692 The Mikado, and Other Comic 

Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 
Sullivan.' 20 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot *20 

694 John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 

Deuce. Bj' David Christie 
Murra}’ 20 

696 Thaddeus of AVarsaw. By Miss 

Jane Porter 20 

697 The Prett3’^ Jailer. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

697 The Pretty Jailer. By F. Du 

Boisgobe3’. 2d half 20 

698 A Life’s Atonement. By David 

Christie Murra3' 20 

699 The Sculptor's Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobe3'. 1st half. . . 20 

699 The Sculptor’s Daughter. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half... 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. B3' Authon3’’ 

Trollope. 1st half '. 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 2d half 20 

701 The Woman in AVhite. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 1st half 20 

701 The Woman in White. Wilkie 

Collins. Illustrated. 2d half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. First half 20 

702 Man and AVife. By Wilkie Col- 

lins. Second half 20 

703 A House Divided Against Itself. 

B3' Mrs. Oliphant 20 

704 Prince Otto. By R. L. Steven- 

son 10 

705 The Woman I Loved, and the 

Woman AVho Loved Me. By 
Isa Blagden 10 

706 A Crimson Stain. By Annie 

Bradshaw 10 

707 Silas Marner. The Weaver of 

Raveloe. By George Eliot ... 20 


20 


20 


, PRICK. 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth 20 
i 09 Zenobia ; or, the Fall of Palmyra 

By William AVare. 1st half. 20 

709 Zenobia ; or, the Fall of Palmyra 

By AVilliam AVare. 2d half. . . 20 

710 The Greatest Heiress in Eng- 

land. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

711 A Cardinal Sin. By Hugh Con 

way 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. A Tale of 

Love and Dynamite. ByGraut 
Allen 

713 “ Cherry Ripe !” By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

Tighe Hopkins. 20 

715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

716 Victor and Vanquished. B3' 

Mary Cecil Hay 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 

riage Verdict. By Alexander 
Dumas 20 

721 Dolores. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

722 AAHiat’s Mine’s Mine. By George 

Macdonald 2C 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 

AA'emyss Reid 20 

724 My Lord and My Lad3'. By 

Mrs. Forrester .' 2f 

725 M3' Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellico lo 

726 M5' Hero. B3' Mr.s. Forrester... 20 

727 FairAVomen. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

728 Janet’s Repentance. By George 

Eliot . 10 

729 Mignou. Mrs. Forrester 20 

731 The Bayou Bride. B3' Mrs. Ma^- 

E. Bryan 20 

732 From Ol3'mpus to Hades. B3* 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

734 Viva. B3’ Mrs. Forrester 20 

735 Until the Dav' Breaks. B3' 

EmiPv Spender 20 

736 R03' and Viola. B3' Mrs. For- 

rester ' 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murra3' 10 

740 Rhona. B3’ Mrs. Forrester 20 

741 The Heiress of Hilldrop; or. 

The Romance of a Young 
Girl. B3' Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 20 

744 Diana Carew ; or. For a AA’om- 
an’s Sake. B5' Mrs. Forrester 20 

745 For Another’s Sin ; or, A Strug- 

gle for Lo\ e. B3' Charlotte M. 
Braeme. author of ” Dora 
Thorne ” 20 


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JUST ISSUED. 


JUST ISSUED. 


JULIET COESOFS 

NEW FAMILY COOK BOOK. 

BY MISS JUIilET CORSON, 

Author of “ Meals for the Million,” etc., etc. 
Superintendent of the New York School of Cookery. 


FBICE: HAFUSOlilELT EOEHS IF CLOTH, $1.00. 

A COMPLETE COOK BOOK 

For Family Use in City and Country. 

CONTAINING 

PRACTICAL RECIPES AND FULL AND PLAIN DIREC> 
TIONS FOR COOKING ALL DISHES USED 
IN AMERICAN HOUSEHOLDS. 

The Best and Most Economical Methods of Cookini: Meats, Fish, 
Vegetables, Sauces, Salads, Puddings and Pies* 

How to Prepare Relishes and Savory Accessories, Picked«up Dishes, 
Soups, Seaso«.ing, Stuffing and Stews. 

How to Make Good Bread, Biscuit, Omelets, Jellies, Jams, Pan* 
cakes. Fritters and Fillets. 


Miss Corson is the best American writer on cooking. All of her recipes 
have been carefully tested in the New York School of Cookery. If her direc- 
tions are carefully followed there will be no failures and no reason for com- 
plaint. Her directions are always plain, very complete, and easily followed. 

Juliet Corson’s New Family Cook Book 

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ARTS AND MYSTERIES OF PERSONAL DECORATION, 

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Incmsiog tbe Natnral Graces of Form and Expression. 

ALL THE LITTLE AFFECTTiONS OF THE 

33sirL, KCair, E 3 res and. Bod. 3 ? 

THAT DETRACT ETIOM APPEARANCE AND HAPPINESS 

Are Kadd the Subjects of Precise and Excellent BecipeSo 

ladies Are Instructed How to Reduce Tlielr WelgW 

Without Injury to Health and Without Producing 
Pallor and Weakness. 

NO'T'HnSTG NEOESSAHY TO 

A COMPLETE TOILET BOOK OF RECIPES 

AND 

VAIHaBLE advice and INFOBIttAliON 

tIAS BEEN OVERLOOKED IN THE COMPILATION OF THIS VOLUME 

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A NEW PEOPLE’S EDITION 

OF THAT MOST DELIGHTFUL OP CHILDREN’S STORIES, 

Alice's AdTeitnres ill londerlaiid. 


By LEWIS CARROLL, 

Author of ** Through the Looking-GHass,** etc. 

ffith Forty-two Beautiful Illustrations by John Tenniel. 

The most delicious and taking nonsense for children ever written. A 
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The Philosophy of Whist. 

AN ESSAY ON THE SCIENTIFIC -AND INTELLECTUAL 
ASPECTS OF THE MODERN GAME. 

IN TWO PARTS. 

Part I.— THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PLAY. 

Part II.— THE PHILOSOPHY OF WHIST PROBABILITIES. 

By WILLIAM POLE, 

Mus. Doc. OxoN. 

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One of the Examiners in the University of London* 

Knight of the Japanese Imperial Order op the Rising Sun. 

Complete in Seaside Library (Pocket Edition), No. 669. 

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These books embrace a series of Dialogues and Speeches, all new and 
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teur Theatricals, etc. They contain Irish, German, Negro, Yankee, and, in 
fact, all kinds of Dialogues and Speeches. The following are the titles of the 
books: 

No. 1. The Funny FellowN Dialogues. 

No. it. The Clemence and Donkey Dialogues. 

No. 3. Mrs. Sinirh*s Boarders’ Dialogues. 

No. 4. Schoolboys’ Comic Dialogues. 


No. 1. Vot I Know ’Bout Gruel Societies Speaker. 

No. it. The John B. Go-ofl'Coinic Speaker. 

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The above titles express, in a slight degree, the contents of the books, 
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6 Night Scenes in New York 10c 

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11 Tracked by a Ventriloquist 10c 

12 The Twin Detectives 10c 

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14 Billy Wayne, the St. Louis Detective 10c 

16 The New York Detective 10c 

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17 Old Sleuth in Harness Again • 10c 

18 The Lady Detective 10c 

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20 The Fastest Boy in New York 10c 

21 Black Raven, the Georgia Detective 10c 

22 Night-Hawk, the Mounted Detective 10c 

23 The Gypsy Detective 10c 

24 The Mysteries and Miseries of New York 10c 

25 Old Terrible 10c 

26 The Smugglers of New York Bay 10c 

27 Manfred, the Magic Trick Detective 10c 

28 Mura, the Western Lady Detective lOo 

29 Monsieur Armand ; or, The French Detective in New 

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30 Lady Kate, the Dashing Girl Detective. FH,rst half . ... 10c 

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HUNTERS’ YARNS. 


A COLLECTION OF 

Wild and Awing Adventures : 

OOMPRISINQ 

THRILLING BATTLES WITH INDIANS, TER- 
RIFIC ENCOUNTERS WITH SERPENTS 
AND ALLIGATORS, LONG SWIMS, 
RACES FOR LIFE, WONDERFUL 
FISH AND GHOST STORIES, 

Etc., Etc., Etc., 


As Related by Hunters to their Compan- 
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printed matter, all original, and embraces many side-splitting jokes and 
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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Ordina/ry Edition. 


481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 2^ 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 1^ 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara ; or, Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 26 

942 Asphodel 26 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 30 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 29 

1715 Phantom Fortune 26 

1736 Under the Red Flag 19 

1877 An Ishmaelite 5r9 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) HI 

896 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) / 20 

162 Shirley 29 

811 The Professor. 1<^ 


THE SEASIDE LIBRAItY. -Ordinary Edition. 


329 Wutliering Heights jq 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall ^ ^ ! 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl I 20 

716 Black Bell 

854 Corisande 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls 20 

\019 His First Love 20 

] 133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) ,20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated) 20 

1 829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine; or. Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret . . . *. 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 



Specially drawn by H SjyiARK S.RA.for thB Prcprieturs of PEARS' SOAR 


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The Hew York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST AMEBIOAIT HOME MAGAZINE. 

Price ti5 Cents per Copy. Subscription Price $3.00 per Year. 

Among its regular contributors are Mary Cecil Hay, “ The Duchess,” 
author of “ Molly Bawn,” Lucy Randall Comfort, Charlotte M, Braeme, 
author of ” Dora Thorne,” Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller, Mary E. Bryan, 
author of ” Manch,” and Florence A. Warden, author of “ The House on the 
Marsh.” 


COMMENTS OF THE PRESS: 


The Christmas number of The New 
York Fashion Bazar contains seventy 
pages of bright and entertaining read- 
ing matter, and ninety illustrations of 
the latest fashions in garments and 
millinery for children, misses and 
ladies. (New York: George Munro. 
Price, 35 cents.) It is also accompanied 
by a very pretty chromo plate, 
*• Merry Little Mischief.”— Ar- 
gus. 

The New York Fashion Bazar, pub- 
lished by George Munro, should be read 
by every American lady. It is one of 
the best authorities on Fashion, keep- 
ing the reader au courant with the 
ever-varying caprices of la dame, 
while in its literary features it is far 
and away ahead of its contemporaries 
in the same line. Its stories are always 
admirably written and full of interest, 
as might be expected in a magazine 
which numbers among its contributors 
some of the very ablest writers of our 
time.— JVeia Yorfc Tablet. 

The last issue of The New York 
Fashion Bazar, published by George 
Munro, is a very superior one in- 
deed, and will delight all who are so 
fortunate as to possess a cppy. Now 
that all are looking around for suitable 
literature for 1886, we advise our lady 
readers to subscribe for this superb 
monthly. Send 35 cents for this num- 
ber, or $3.00 for a year’s subscription. 
Address the publisher at Vandewater 
Street, New York.— CenfmZ Methodist. 

George Munro has issued a Christ- 
mas number of The New York Fash- 
ion Bazar, of which he may well be 
proud. The Fashion Bazar has no 
superior in the field that it covers and 
we doubt if it has a rival. This model 
fashion book is published monthly at 
$3.00 a year and is for sale by all news- 
dealers. — Daily Nonpareil, Council 
Bluffs, Iowa. 


George Munro sends with the Decem- 
ber number of The New York Fash- 
ion Bazar, a handsome chromo litho- 
graph, “ Merry Little Mischief.” This 
Christmas number is full of pat- 
terns and plates, and has much enter- 
taining reading besides.— iVew York 
Observer. 

The New York Fashion Bazar. 
New York. , Published by George 
Munro. Monthly. Price $3.00 a year. 
The fashions of the world pass away; 
nevertheless ladies tvill know what 
they are; here they can find out.— 
Southern Churchman. 

The Christmas number of The Fash- 
ion Bazar, published by George 
Munro, New York, is just received and 
presents unusual attractions for the 
ladies in its embellisliments and fash- 
ion news. The reading matter is equal 
to that of previous numbers, and well 
sustains its high reputation as a first- 
class magazine.— Harf/ord Sunday 
Journal. 

The Christmas number of The New 
York Fashion Bazar, published by 
George Munro, New York, is devoted 
to literature and the fashions. This is 
a very popular and beautifully illus- 
trated monthly. Each number con- 
tains a colored plate of the newest 
fashions in ladies’ wear, music, and en- 
tertaining reading. Price $3.00 a year. 
— Western Farmer, Madison, Wis. 

The New York Fashion Bazar 
comes out for the current month in 
the form of a Christmas number, with 
beautiful chromo-supplement. It con- 
tains rich evening and ball costumes, 
and all the latest fashions for ladies 
and children. The stories and other 
reading matter are specially interest- 
ing and valuable. Published by George 
Munro, New York; $3.00 per year. — 
Gazette and Courier, Greenfield, Mass. 


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THE CELEBRATED 

iOEKEI 

GEAND, SQUAEE AND TJPEIGHT PIANOS. 


FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exnibl- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 
1881 and 1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 
Co. hold ainong 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 



They are 
in Conservatl 
ries. Schools ai 
Seminaries, oni 
count ot their si 
perior tone a n j 
unequaled dt 
bility. 

The SO] 
Piano is a 
favorite ivith tl 
leading musi 
and critics. 


ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. j 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 135 £. 14th Street, N» Y. 


Munro’s Publications. 

The Seaside Library — Pocket Edition. 


MISS M. E. BRADDON’S WORKS. 


86 Ladjr Audley’s Se- 
cret 20 

56 Phantom Fortune. . 20 

74 Aurora Floyd 20 

110 Under the Red Flag 10 
1.58 The Golden Calf. ... 20 

204 Vixen 20 

211 The Octoroon 10 

234 Barbara; or, Splen. 

did Misery 20 

268 An Ishmaeiite 20 

816The Mistletoe 
Kongh. Edited by 
Miss Braddon.... 20 
484 IVyllard’s Weird.. 20 
478 Uiavola; or, No. 
tiody’s Daughter. 

Part 1 20 

478 Diavoia; or. No. 
body’s Daughter. 

Part II 20 

480 Married In Haste. 
Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

487 Pnt to the Test. 

Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

488 Joshua Haggard’s 

Daughter 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. ... 20 

49.5 Mount Royal 20 

496 ()nly a Woman. 

Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 


497 The liOdy’s Mile... 

498 Only a Clod 

499 The Cloven Foot... 

511 A Strange W’orld.. 
615 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 
524 Strangers and Pil- 
grims 

629 The Doctor’s Wife. 
642 Fenton's Quest.... 
544 Cut by the County; 
or, Grace Darnel. 

548 The Fatal Marriage, 

and The Siiadow 
in the Corner. .. . 

549 Dudley Carleon, and 

George Caulileld’s 

Journey 

.552 Hostages toFortnne 

5.58 Birds of Prey 

554 Charlotte’s Inher- 
itance. (Se(]nel to 
“Birds of Prey.”) 
557 To the Bitter End. 

559 Taken at the Flood 

560 Asphodel 

561 Just as I am; or, A 

Iiivinir Lie 

507 Dead Men’s Shoes.. 
570 John Marchmont's 

Lesacy 

618 The Mistletoe 
B o II !r h . Christ- 
mas, 1885 


10 


20 


Any of the above works will be sent by mail, post 
on receipt of the price. Address 

GEORGE MUNItO, Mnnro’s Publishing House, 

P. O. Box 3751, 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N, ¥• 


NEW 


TABSBNACK SEBMONS! 

Preached in the Brooklyn Tabernacle.i 
By Rev. T. DetVitt Talmn^e, D.l). 


CONTENTS: 


Brawn and Muscle. 
The Pleiades and Orion 
The Queen’s Visit. 
Vicarious Suffering. 
Posthumous Opportu- 
nity. 

The Lord’s Razor. 
Windows Toward Je- 
rusalem. 

Stormed and Taken. 
All tho World .Akin. 

A Momentous Quest. 
The Great Assize. 

The Road to the City. 
The Ransondess. 

The Three Groups. 


The book will be forwarded, postage prt 
gaid, on receipt of price, $1.00. Address 

. ^ - GEORGE MTJNRO, 

Miinro’s Publishing House, 
P.O.Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater St., N.l 


The Insignificant. 

The Three Rings. 

How He Came to Sai 
It. f 

Castle Jesus. t 

|tr^gin^g the Slain. * 

Summer Temptations. 
The Banished Queen. , 
The Day We Live In.^ 
Capital and Labor. 
Tobacco and Opium. , 
Despotism of the 
Needle. 

Why are Satan and Sin 
Permitted? 

















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